Invisible Chains
by TheBladedancer
Summary: CHAPTER FIFTEEN! Jarlaxle has managed to carve a new life in the drow world--one far different from an ordinary male. But, his enemies know, there will be a day when his tricks run out....
1. Morality's Disclaimer

Invisible Chains  
  
Brace yourself, people! Aithne's actually writing something more than a short story! Okay, yes, I love Drizzt with an undying passion-as do you all, of course. We all worship R.A. Salvatore, but what about those other characters that we love and adore? Hint, hint: Jarlaxle.  
  
Ah, my favorite master of lies, ruler of the drow underworld. Jarlaxle kicks some major booty and his tricks are always coming.  
  
.So, at any rate, here's the beginning of my Jarlaxle piece. It started out as a little thing to get out of some writer's block and evolved from that.  
  
As any fan of the drow world knows, very little is known about Jarlaxle's past. Many have come up with their own theories about the thrilling past of our favorite little mercenary. In my personal opinion, the best fanfic- writer who completely mastered the character of Jarlaxle is David Pontier. He rules the Drizzt Fanfiction world.  
  
In his fanfiction "A Rainbow in the Dark" we see Zaknafien and Jarlaxle as friends, hinted by the mercenary in the Drizzt books. In the fanfiction, they attend Melee-Magthere together and we watch as the two characters, so loved by Salvatore's readers, come to be friends and enter the drow society.  
  
While you don't actually have to read "A Rainbow in the Dark" to understand my dear story-in-the-making, I just wanted to give proper credit to David Pontier, whose idea for Jarlaxle's past will be used in my fanfiction.  
  
Ah, and of course, the unforgettable commentary. Few of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction are mine. Nevina, her family, Lea'Veril, and Maelent are mine, as well as a few others that you can recognize as non- Salvatore characters. Jarlaxle, Malice, and Zaknafein were created by R. A. Salvatore and are not mine. There, this disclaimer has been stated.  
  
Enjoy. More will be posted soon, but enjoy the first few chapters.  
  
~Aithne, TheBladedancer  
  
PS- Dave Ponteir's works can be found here. 


	2. Prologue

Prologue  
  
Jarlaxle sang softly an old tune he had heard once far back in his childhood. The song was slow and dark, the words echoing the evil of his people. The mercenary leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into his reveries. . . .  
  
That didn't last long. Jarlaxle's lips thinned as he came across a line in the song he couldn't remember fully. He hadn't heard the song in decades, since he had spent those years cleaning the chapel. Still, he thought he would have remembered it. After all, he was drow and the song was all about praising Lloth. Shouldn't he know it like the back of his ebony hand?  
  
A thought of irony came to him, bringing forth a slight, wistful smile onto his face as he recounted that last muse. The song-it was a hymn praising Lloth. After all those years he spent in that chapel, he should know that song well; it should be imbedded deep into his memory. But it wasn't. Any recollection of the missing verse had been destroyed with the chapel.  
  
The smile faded from his dark face, his expression now taut. He remembered the chapel. Distastefully, he let his eyes cloud over as images of endless statues came to him. He remembered the chapel. His memory unlocked thousands of times the whip of torture bruised and burned his back. He remembered the chapel.  
  
And he remembered Lloth. She was the deity of his people, their goddess of the darkness. He had not forsaken her, but nor did he worship her. To him, the leader of the Bregan D'aerthe, Lloth simply was.  
  
And him? What was he? Jarlaxle ran his fingers over his bare head and glanced at the brightly colored hat on his desk. Flicking the plume with a lazy finger, he smiled again. He had carved out a new life for himself in the drow world. He demanded respect from those who considered themselves to be his better and he received it. It had taken a lot to make it this far, but there was much more that he still wanted to achieve.  
  
At least I'm not a slave, Jarlaxle thought, a twinge of melancholy seeping into his mind. He thought back to his friend Zaknafein, his only companion at the Melee-Magthere. They alone hadn't given in to the brainwashing as their classmates had. They had refused the ideas and laws of their people. They had-survived?  
  
No, not both of them. Jarlaxle had, in a way. He had come out of the everyday society at least. Zak was stuck there, trapped because he hadn't taken that last leap from their people. He hadn't had the sense, Jarlaxle thought regrettably, to make that final choice and try to carve a new life.  
  
Zak was still a prisoner to society, he was still being held tightly in place by those ever-seizing invisible chains. Those chains bound and wound and trapped, damning the captured soul to a lifetime of torment and unrest. But Zak had made that choice on his own accord. What was Jarlaxle to do about it?  
  
The mercenary sighed heavily and sat upright in his chair. "Xsa linathen," Jarlaxle muttered, shaking his head but keeping his sly smile on his face.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Translation: *Xsa Linathen: Damn song 


	3. Chapter I

Chapter One  
  
Dawn peered into the wagon in brilliant sheets of golden light. A burning red sun was just beginning to rise outside, but neither of the two people inside the wagon noticed or cared.  
  
"She's beautiful," Dessaven cooed softly, tears rimming her deep brown eyes. Her fingers moved to gently brush the newborn's arm and the child stirred lightly in her sleep. Dessaven smiled, too happy to do anything else. As a tear of joy slipped down her cheek, she glanced up at the man kneeling beside her. Sapek, her husband, reached down and very delicately touched the baby's face. Love came in that soft touch and Dessaven felt complete. She had her family.  
  
Many years had gone by since she had lost her entire family to the goblins' attack. Her mother and father had been killed on that fateful day and she had been taken in by a traveling merchant's band, to which she still belonged. There she had met Sapek, and they had fallen in love. For many years now, they had tried to have a child, but they weren't blessed. Now, after they had given up hope, there was a baby in Dessaven's arms, one so beautiful it was if she were from the gods themselves.  
  
"Did you see her eyes before?" Dessaven asked excitedly.  
  
Sapek smiled and nodded. "I did," he replied.  
  
"They're the same color as mine," she told him proudly. "The color of an oak tree's bark."  
  
"The bark of the most beautiful oak tree in the entire land," he added, pulling a strand of Dessaven's hair playfully. The couple's eyes locked and they shared their pride and happiness wholly, each understanding the other's immense joy.  
  
The curtain of the wagon opened and the eyes of the new parents shifted to see who was interrupting their special moment. They said nothing when they saw Aniyia, the wise-woman and Seer, stick her head in and smile at them broadly.  
  
"A great year," she commented, "for babies and crops alike!" Dessaven laughed. For the merchant band, it had indeed been a good year. . . .  
  
"Have you named the child yet?" Aniyia asked eagerly, the old woman's eyes full of excitement.  
  
Sapek glanced down at the infant and then at his wife. "We need a name for her," he told her in a hushed whisper. Aniyia waited patiently for the couple to decide.  
  
Dessaven's tan skin clashed against the babe's milky white. Her dark black hair fell against the tufts of red of the child. The features of the babe fit no one alive that Dessaven knew and they matched only one in the past. Memories she had thought were long forgotten flooded back to Dessaven as she looked at the sleeping baby.  
  
"Nevina," the new mother responded, a smile on her face. She glanced up at her husband, her eyes sparkling in her bursting happiness. "We'll call her Nevina after--"  
  
"After your grandmother," he finished. Dessaven nodded, remembering the epic tales of her grandmother, Nevina Le'virest. A brave warrior and merciful fighter, the hero of the mountains. The little baby in her arms would grow up to be a fine namesake, Dessaven knew, more than worthy to carry on her grandmother's name.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"The first house is organizing a raiding party that will be sent to the surface," Matron Malice informed those gathered before her. Zaknafein, weapons-master of the House Do'Urden, was impassive, knowing full well where this discussion would be leading. He took in the news without another thought and remained in his deep muses as he stared past Malice to the stone wall behind her, admiring the carvings. A very skilled hand had done them. . . . What had ever happened to the sculptor? Was he alive? If not, how had he died? Had he been killed? And what had happened to his children? Or did he have children? Had he been a fighter as well? Or a..  
  
Malice glanced at the skilled drow fighter at her side and noticed that his thoughts were elsewhere. Although her first instinct was to grab for the whip at her side, she held her hand. Zak was a curious one. Despite all of her years knowing Zaknafein, both as a warrior and a patron, he continued to surprise her. Malice made a note in her mind to remember the weapons- master's reaction.  
  
"The twelfth house of Menzoberranzan will be represented," she continued with a strong tone in her already threatening voice. Her eyes gave another quick glance Zaknafein's way, but he was still staring at the wall intently. Deciding to bring him into the conversation, the matron mother added, "Our prize weapons-master will go to the surface on this raid and please Lloth on our behalf."  
  
Zak shifted his stance, but did not divert his stare from the wall. Zak knew that she had noticed his lack of interest in the topic at hand. Hiding a smile, he waited for her to speak.  
  
Malice exhaled heavily, annoyed by Zak's reaction--or lack thereof. Her look turned sour. "Well?" she asked him impatiently. "Don't you have an opinion?"  
  
Zak finally turned to face her. "Always," Zaknafein smirked, adding a chuckle to the end of his comment. Malice glowered at him and Zak wisely ended his amusement. "I will go to the surface," he assured her.  
  
"And?" she prodded. The corners of Zak's mouth twitched. He knew what Malice wanted him to say.  
  
"I will go to the surface and. . . ."  
  
"And you will please Lloth," Malice finished for him sternly. To this Zak did not reply and Malice didn't press.  
  
"Are you sure this is wise?" a priestess asked. Zak glanced her way. He turned and saw Pontia, a tall drow priestess, her hair cut so that it fell at her shoulders in pure white ringlets. Years ago when House Do'Urden had been the thirteenth house and had attacked the fourth, they had gained many priestesses. Pontia had been one of them, a strong-willed, assertive drow who Zak considered deeply ignorant of how treacherous her people could be. Zaknafein watched Malice's expression closely, surprised that even Pontia would speak out against Malice.  
  
"Are you questioning my decision?" Malice asked.  
  
"No, Matron Malice," Pontia was quick to reply although it was obvious she was not even attempting to be sincere. "I simply thought. . . Zaknafein is only a male. . . are you certain he will please Lloth as well as a female might?"  
  
"Zaknafein will go to the surface," Malice told her flatly. "I have chosen him."  
  
Even Pontia knew better than to tread any further into the argument. "When does the raiding party leave?" she asked, trying to divert Malice's growing anger.  
  
"In two weeks' time," Malice replied shortly. Zak and Malice glanced at each other, both knowing full well that Pontia was wearing their nerves thin.  
  
"Leave me now," Malice commanded, tiring of the group surrounding her. Those present shuffled out quickly almost nervously--all knew that Pontia was pushing Malice to her tolerance's limits.  
  
"Zaknafein," Malice called when Zak had neared the door. Zak stopped instantly, trained well enough to know not to ignore the beckon of a matron mother. Malice waited until the last of the drow had left the room and the door had been closed before continuing.  
  
"I have not forgotten the fact that you do not fully praise our goddess."  
  
"Why my dearest Malice," Zak snidely remarked, dipping low in a mocking bow, "what ever would make you think that? Am I not a loyal patron? Have I not aided this house in battle? I would attend the ceremonies honoring Lloth, you know, but--as you can see--I am but a male."  
  
Malice's eyes burned with fury and her hand shot up with her whip. "You're correct in your words, Zaknafein," Malice spat. "You are but a male. Might I remind you what that means?"  
  
Zak's eyes glowed in his anger, but he didn't reply.  
  
"Leave me," she spat at him. "Even your sight annoys me now." Zak turned to leave, but again Malice's words stopped him. "Zak, you will please Lloth on the surface raid. If you don't, know full well what will await your return."  
  
Before Zak could turn to face her, the bite of the whip met his back. He winced and nearly doubled over from the pain. Malice drew back her whip and returned it to its place at her side.  
  
"Go," she ordered Zak; the weapons-master of House Do'Urden didn't linger. 


	4. Chapter II

Chapter Two  
  
Melyac and Osadd gave each other a quick glance as they watched the group of three drow make their way through the alleys of the dark Menzoberranzan. They were amazingly stealthy for so large a group (albeit three) and Melyac, a lieutenant in the Bregan D'aerthe, was sincerely impressed. Of course, for all intelligent purposes, he carefully hid that small amount of respect for the group. Until their identity and purpose were placed, they had the possibility of being an enemy-and Melyac didn't particularly like enemies.  
  
"I don't like it," Osadd said to Melyac in the drow hand-code. Melyac could perfectly hear in his head the omniscient tone Osadd would have had saying the words aloud. Melyac shook his head and breathed in heavily, annoyed by the young drow's brash attitude. Osadd was new to the Bregan D'aerthe and this was one of his first night patrols of the city.  
  
Melyac looked down at the three drow, not even bothering to respond to Osadd's comment. Melyac grimly locked his eyes on the one leading the group. Despite the uselessness of Osadd's statement, it held some truth. There was something Melyac definitely didn't like about the group.  
  
"Let's go," Melyac signed. Osadd's eyes lit up in excitement and Melyac shook his head. Osadd was entirely too young for this sort of thing, he thought regrettably.  
  
Melyac stood up easily, hardly afraid that he was standing on the very edge of a building's roof, perfectly balanced so that he would not fall. Even for his people, the lieutenant was extremely lithe.  
  
The two drow dropped down to the stone ground, each landing without a single sound. A gentle roll of vibration ran through the stone, no more than a ripple in an ocean.  
  
Sometimes a ripple is enough.  
  
One of the three drow turned instantly, eyes glowing and searching. Melyac said a curse aloud as the drow pointed at them. The other two turned around. Through angry eyes, Melyac saw one of the three give him a slight smirk followed quickly with a mocking bow.  
  
"What do we do now?" Osadd asked under his breath. Melyac could easily tell he was nervous. Definitely not in the mood to be comforting his companion and quelling fears, Melyac ignored him again.  
  
"Our greetings to the Bregan D'aerthe! It is a nice night" the drow who had bowed shouted to Melyac. Melyac didn't respond, knowing full well that the drow speaking didn't expect him to.  
  
Smiling broadly, the drow went on. "Tell your leader, the one called Jarlaxle, to remain away from our business if he knows what is good for his band. Leave the streets until we are finished with our work-you will know when."  
  
Melyac's mouth dropped at the sound of the audacious words. Was this drow truly giving Jarlaxle orders?!  
  
"I will pass the message on," Melyac responded sarcastically, "although, I do not think Jarlaxle the mercenary will appreciate the threat."  
  
"No threats," the drow answered quickly, dismissing the notion with a wave of his ebony hand.  
  
"Oh?" Melyac called back, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.  
  
"A warning and nothing more," came the reply. And then, with a billow of gray and red smoke, the three drow vanished and disappeared into nothing.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Malice sank back in her chair, a depressive sorrow glazing her eyes. She only wanted to better her house. . . . Was that so much to ask?  
  
Depends on whether you mean killing your weapons-master or not, a smug voice responded coyly. Malice shot the empty air a damning glare.  
  
She hadn't intended on hitting him as hard as she had in all actuality. She had only meant to scare him a bit so that he wouldn't shame them on the surface raid. But when the whip was in her hand and she felt the power and command of wielding it, a new feeling took over and Malice lost control.  
  
Zak had paid for that loss of mind too. Her Zak. . . . He had done nothing wrong. Maybe-just maybe-she should apologize.  
  
Malice's eyes went wide in shock of the thought. Was someone putting spells on her mind?! What was she thinking? Malice shook her head vigorously. She would never apologize-never to anyone and never-oh never!- to a male.  
  
"Oh, Malice," the matron mother sighed, "you are going soft."  
  
She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. She had done right in hitting Zaknafein as hard as she had. She had done so for Lloth.  
  
Lloth! All praise! Malice's mouth stretched into a broad smile as she thought of the glory she would one day receive. The glory and the respect and the power would be hers, given to her by Lloth. I will help rule Menzoberranzan one day, Malice vowed solemnly, in the honor of my goddess.  
  
Even if it means killing those dear in the process? asked a condescending voice from the very back of her mind, its tone near mocking. Malice scowled in the dark.  
  
Yes, she growled back in her mind. Any who oppose the work of our goddess. Let them feel the sting of the whip if they get in the way!  
  
Ah, the voice sneered in reply, but what if they already have? Malice's face fell into a grim set, but she offered no reply to the voice of her mind, some bodiless being in the back of her thoughts. She rarely gave the voice any thought, but today she had made an exception.  
  
Malice's eyes squinted as she made a new discovery. Hadn't it been called something before? Some place, some time, didn't she hear a name for the voice?  
  
Malice thought back, deep into her long memory. Ah yes, she recalled, a conscience.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Sir, we bring news." Jarlaxle looked up from his papers lazily, seeming to eye Melyac and Osadd before him with no more than the slightest bit of passing interest. Melyac however knew his leader well. Jarlaxle was intrigued now, as much as he was trying to hide it.  
  
"News from who?" Jarlaxle asked, setting down his quill. Melyac paused for a moment-almost hesitating for some unknown reason. It was Osadd, the brazen newcomer to the band, who answered in his place.  
  
"From strangers in the city's streets," he responded. Melyac nodded dumbly. Jarlaxle glanced at his lieutenant.  
  
"People we know?" the mercenary asked, his tone suddenly serious. Jarlaxle eyes were alert now, watching the slightest gesture of his two men.  
  
"No sir," Melyac answered. "No one that we could place and no one from any of the houses that I could tell."  
  
"Curious then," Jarlaxle sighed, clearly speaking more to himself than to the two standing before his desk. Louder, he asked, "Their message?"  
  
"They want you to stay away from the streets until their business is done," Osadd told the mercenary.  
  
Jarlaxle snorted. "Well, that's a stupid thing to ask." Melyac offered a shaky smile at Jarlaxle's nonchalant attitude. "Melyac, where did they go after their message had been delivered?"  
  
"I don't know, sir," Melyac admitted. "They disappeared in mist. One of them must have conjured something. The three vanished in gray and red smoke."  
  
"Magic," Jarlaxle hummed, a smile on his face. If anything, he was amused by this encounter. Puzzled and certainly on guard, but still amused. Someone had the boldness-the stupidity-to order him to stay away from the streets? Jarlaxle was more than a little amused by the foolishness of the frank request.  
  
Of course, he had no intent of obliging it. If anything, he would send his men out to learn more about this mysterious group.  
  
"Sir?" Jarlaxle shook his head, freeing himself of his thoughts.  
  
"Yes, Melyac?" he asked, blinking a few times.  
  
"Is there anything else?"  
  
Jarlaxle shook his head. "You two are dismissed." Melyac and Osadd shuffled out quickly, not wanting to disturb the dangerous drow in his deep muses.  
  
"Well," Jarlaxle muttered to himself quietly. He clicked his tongue once to emphasize the importance of his new course of action. "It's time to pay a visit to an old friend." 


	5. Chapter III

Chapter III  
  
Zak let out a long, distressed sigh when he closed the door to his private chambers. He let his head rest in his hand for a moment, his eyes closed. Long were his days of late, preparing for the raid to the surface.  
  
Preparing! Zak breathed out shakily. Is that the word Malice at used? Preparing? Zak tried focusing on the blackness of his thoughts, attempting to block out the pain that was still causing his back to throb.  
  
Nearly an entire minute had passed before Zaknafein sensed the uneasiness of the shadows. . . .  
  
"Show yourself," Zak ordered in perfect calm. He slowly unsheathed his weapons, drawing them menacingly and threateningly. Despite his steady tone, Zak felt his heart thudding in his chest nervously. He was weak and caught off guard. Silence drummed in Zaknafein's ears, deafening him.  
  
Suddenly, breaking the terrifying silence, there came a familiar laugh, and an old friend stepped out from behind a door.  
  
"Put those away, Zak," the mercenary Jarlaxle chuckled. "I didn't come here to fight anyone, much less you." The weapons-master relaxed, at ease once again. Friends didn't come too often in such place as Menzoberranzan and Jarlaxle was the closest thing he had to one. Zak smiled in greeting as he sheathed his swords, but the smile quickly faded as he thought over Jarlaxle's surprise visit to House Do'Urden.  
  
"Why are you here?" Zak asked, turning to lock the bolt on his door. He couldn't risk anyone happening upon their meeting.  
  
"What? You aren't happy to see me?" Jarlaxle gave a short laugh and Zak shook his head, giving a wistful smile. More seriously, Jarlaxle went on. "Things are happening in Menzoberranzan, many things that need our attention."  
  
"I am no member of the Bregan D'aerthe," Zak reminded Jarlaxle. The mercenary shook his head.  
  
"You misunderstand. I don't mean the band alone. You are part of this too."  
  
"How?" The weapons-master cocked his head curiously to the side as he waited for Jarlaxle to explain.  
  
"I heard that you would be joining the others on the surface raid," Jarlaxle told him, side-stepping the question asked. Jarlaxle looked around the room while Zak digested his words. Along the wall ran a shelf, cluttered with daggers and random objects, some weapons and some not. Jarlaxle peered at them with sharp eyes. Spotting a curious black orb near the middle of the shelf, he intently stared at it, drumming his fingers lightly.  
  
"I don't have much of a choice," Zak responded grimly. Jarlaxle snorted as he reached for the black orb and tossed it into the air.  
  
"That's obvious," he remarked dryly, letting the orb fall neatly into his palm. He tossed it up again, but Zak didn't notice. The weapons- master was far too consumed by the reference to the wounds on his back.  
  
"Malice thought I needed to see a bit of reasoning," Zak returned, dismissing Jarlaxle's worries with a slight shake of his head. Jarlaxle would not be that easily deterred.  
  
"Reasoning?" he asked. "Are you hoping she will kill you before the surface raid? That way-"  
  
"Jarl, I am going on the surface raid," Zak said, cutting his friend off in mid-sentence. "There is no way to prevent that."  
  
"That's not what I am concerned about," the mercenary stated. He tossed the orb into the air one final time before carefully setting it back into place on the shelf. "It's what you could-and might-do once on the raid."  
  
Zak swallowed, a nervous lump forming in his throat. Jarlaxle had a point, as much as he hated to admit it.  
  
"Enough of this," chided the mercenary after a dark moment of silence. "We're acting like idiots. There's no time for it either; too much is happening on the streets."  
  
Zak looked up curiously.  
  
"Two of my scouts intercepted a group of drow last night," Jarlaxle explained. "Have you heard anything about them?"  
  
"No," was the reply. "What happened?"  
  
The clever drow smirked, still amused by the encounter, despite the tension it was causing. He sat down in one of the chairs in the room smugly. "I was warned to stay off the streets."  
  
"Naïve drow," Zak commented, sharing in Jarlaxle's ease and merriment. "Did they give a reason?"  
  
"None, but I am planning to find out."  
  
Zaknafein nodded. "Are you thinking that some house is planning something?"  
  
Jarlaxle shrugged. "It's one of many possibilities. The drow my scouts met are bold-clever and bold. Not always a thrilling combination."  
  
"Unless you can pull it off," Zak teased, gesturing to his friend. Jarlaxle grinned and bowed awkwardly in his seat.  
  
"I try," he joked. A moment passed and their smiles faded again.  
  
"Where did the drow come from?" questioned Zak.  
  
Jarlaxle had no answer. "I don't know and they left somewhat in a jiffy." When Zak seemed confused, Jarlaxle added caustically, "Poof."  
  
"Magic then?" the weapons-master reasoned.  
  
"That's what I'm thinking." Jarlaxle sighed. "I'm not really worried, but if someone believes they have the authority to order Bregan D'aerthe. . .. It means they have incredible power or they have incredible stupidity. I'm not too eager to find out which."  
  
"Understandable," Zak observed. "Be careful on the streets." Jarlaxle nodded.  
  
"As always," he slyly said. Looking at the door for a second, Jarlaxle slowly and heavily stood up. "Time for me to go," he said. "I'll keep in touch with you, Zak. Watch your back on this raid-people like us have more enemies that we can imagine."  
  
Zak offered only a nod in response as the crafty mercenary reached into the folds of his clothes. Throwing something on the ground, Jarlaxle had just enough time to flash his friend a grin before he vanished in a whirl of yellow, purple, and red.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
A knock came at the door almost instantly after Jarlaxle had vanished.  
  
Amazing timing, friend, Zaknafein thought lightly, although there was no way for Jarlaxle to hear.  
  
Zak waited until the last of the colors had finished blending into the air, vanishing into invisibility before moving towards the door. A hand on his sword's hilt and a hand on the doorknob, he asked shortly, "Who is it?"  
  
"A messenger, sir." Zak made a face that showed his annoyance and then opened the door. Before him stood a drow, fairly young, his white hair tied behind in a leather band.  
  
"Your message?" Zaknafein questioned bluntly. The drow before him smirked, catching ear of the weapon-master's impatience.  
  
"My master wishes that you join him in his company," the messenger laughed. "Tomorrow night. Wait by the Clawrift, Someone will show you the rest of the way."  
  
"Oh?" Zak asked smartly, although a twinge of anxiety was finding its way into his thoughts. He held no doubt that this was one of the drow Jarlaxle had spoken of. "And who might your master be?"  
  
The messenger winked, giving no answer. "Until tomorrow." With that the messenger vanished, disappearing as Jarlaxle had, leaving no trail to be followed, save for the uneasiness it left behind. 


	6. Chapter IV

Chapter IV  
  
Jarlaxle was silent as he crept past the alley he knew his sentries were stationed. In stealth movements the Bregan D'aerthe guards could not detect, their leader walked through the shadows. Jarlaxle didn't particularly want his lieutenants to know that he had been wandering the streets of Menzoberranzan; they were highly overprotective. Those foolish drow didn't believe he could handle himself on the streets!  
  
The mercenary felt like laughing at that thought. He had been through much worse than sneaking into House Do'Urden without being detected. In all reality, the feat hadn't been difficult at all, just a simple matter of dodging a few guards and magical wards on occasion and finding his way to Zaknafein's room without being spotted. Not too hard for the talented Jarlaxle.  
  
Jarlaxle saw the tavern up ahead in the distance, on the corner of two stone-paved streets. Clusters of drow were heading towards it, mostly common guards of random houses. The mercenary had spies in there each night, mingling throughout the crowd. Jarlaxle had eyes and ears all throughout the city.  
  
He passed the tavern without another thought and walked on to the compound. Going deeper into the shadows, he hurried past his watch. Sprinting, he came to the back door of the compound-its existence unknown to all but himself. Whispering the magical word to enter, he smiled. The door cracked open and Jarlaxle was inside one of the corridors of the Bregan D'aerthe compound.  
  
"Well that was easy enough," Jarlaxle muttered under his breath. A voice from the back of his mind added snidely, "Wishing for more excitement-more danger?" Jarlaxle didn't have to answer the voice at all. Of course, he was. The answer was obvious.  
  
Jarlaxle let his heels click against the floor, letting his approach become known to anyone who was listening. He yawned and put a hand on the doorknob to his private chambers. Again whispering another word to unlock the magical blocks, Jarlaxle waited until he had counted to three. He opened the door.  
  
The alarm remained off. If he had opened the door a second beforehand, the magical alarm would have gone off and the guard raised and the entire compound put on alert. Such was the security measure of the mercenary's home.  
  
Jarlaxle entered, closing and locking the door behind him. He did not intend to be bothered any more this night by anyone-lieutenants or visitors included. He took off his hat-that magnificent, brightly colored hat-and immediately fell down on his bed sleepily.  
  
Without another thought, he drifted off to sleep.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Everything is set," Aniyia told the proud parents late in one afternoon. "The ceremony for Nevina will take place on the full moon." Dessaven and Sapek sat beside each other on the fallen tree log, Nevina sleeping soundly in Dessaven's arms.  
  
"Hmm," Dessaven thought aloud, "that's just four days before my grandmother's birthday." Aniyia nodded, remembering the warrior's birth. She had been alive then, a young girl growing up in a small mountain town.  
  
"Fate has something planned for this one," the Seer told them knowingly, passing the sleeping babe a smile. "I have a feeling. She will become something great." Dessaven and Sapek shared an eager glance.  
  
"I remember your grandmother, Dess. . ." Aniyia said softly, moving to sit beside the new mother. "I was only a girl back then, very, very young, but I remember the ceremony and celebration following her birth. She hadn't been expected so soon, but she came-as healthy as any. Everyone thought she was a beautiful baby, just like they are thinking about your own little one."  
  
"Thank you, Aniyia," Dessaven said suddenly, deep meaning in the words. To Sapek the words were unprecedented, but when he looked at the old woman, he noticed that her eyes had not caught the abruptness of what was said, only the tone in which the words had been spoken. Dessaven had meant them with her entire heart and Aniyia knew.  
  
"You are more welcome than you know, dear," the Seer told her and Dessaven smiled tiredly. Sapek gave her a slight hug. Aniyia glanced at him, gave a nod, and then walked away. Dessaven rested her head on Sapek's shoulder.  
  
"Love," he whispered, leaning closer and kissing his wife on the cheek gently. Dessaven smiled, wondering which romantic words were going to come next. She smiled and closed her eyes.  
  
"Yes?" she asked, flickering her eyelashes hopefully. Sapek grinned and then stood up. "Nevina needs a change." Enjoying his wife's gaping mouth, he smiled innocently and walked away, a playful skip in his step. 


	7. Chapter V

Chapter V  
  
Zak almost turned back-almost. He had already managed to leave his own house without being noticed and was deep into the alleys of Menzoberranzan by the time those dread-filled second thoughts hit him. Uneasily, Zak toyed with the idea of turning back to House Do'Urden, fear of a trick or a trap darkening his spirits.  
  
This could be a lure to get me out while a rival house attacks, he thought, stealing a few glances in the darkness. Zaknafein grimaced. He didn't like the idea at all, but it made sense. Jarlaxle had warned him of strange drow in the streets. But somehow, although Zak couldn't place it, the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together. That thought alone kept him from running back to House Do'Urden in full flight, sword drawn and ready to attack.  
  
Within the course of a half an hour, Zak reached the Clawrift. No one was there, the immense shadow of the pit eerily wanting to swallow him up. Zak instinctively placed a hand on his sword's hilt, feeling the protecting curve of the pommel in his palm.  
  
Seconds droned by as the drow scanned the area above and around him. Nothing was there. No one was watching-at least not that he could see. Still, Zak shifted his weight nervously, waiting.  
  
Under his breath, he muttered, "Curiosity killed the drow." Zaknafein began tapping his foot in his mounting nervousness. Two more minutes passed in the stillness, and the thoughts of deception only grew in his mind.  
  
If no one comes in the next minute, the weapons-master decided, he would hurry back. The weapons-master nodded to himself in agreement although he didn't know why.  
  
A cry came out in the dank air, far away in the city's main streets. Zak ignored it. Seconds seemed like hours, but Zaknafein waited. After what seemed like forever, he heard the crackle of a heel scraping against the stone and gravel. Zak's head shot up, his eyes peering in the direction of the sound.  
  
"Zaknafein Do'Urden?" a misty voice asked. Zak watched as a cloaked figure came into view. Something in that voice surprised Zak; it had been feminine. Despite the fact that power lay in the females in his society, he had thought that this mysterious "lord" was a male. He shrugged away the thought, not knowing what basis he had had with that assumption.  
  
"Did you invite others out this evening?" Zak asked caustically. The cloaked figure didn't respond to the question.  
  
"I am in need of your help," she told him.  
  
Zak snorted. "Since when does a female drow come in the middle of the dark to ask a male for help?" His voice had a cutting edge and his index finger tapped his sword's hilt, his hand still in place.  
  
"You will be paid for your troubles," she replied mystically, ignoring the question. Zaknafein surveyed her suspiciously. There was something in her voice that he had couldn't place. It wasn't right, whatever it was. Her voice echoed her youth, but there was something else, something deeper. . . .  
  
"And what might those troubles be?" he asked her, not taking his eyes off of the cowl of her cloak. He wished he could see her face! But the cowl was drawn down far over her head and he could see nothing but a mask of darkness.  
  
"The assassination of a matron mother," she replied coolly, trying to hide the slight tremor in her voice. Zak didn't miss it, but his mind was more concerned on other things.  
  
"A matron mother?!" he asked incredulously. He shook his head. "Go home, young one. You do not want to be killed so needlessly. Forget your plans."  
  
She shook her head. "I can't do that," she said with assurance. "But I need help."  
  
Zak let out a deep, exasperated sigh. "Why me?"  
  
"You are a fighter," she told him blandly.  
  
Zak raised his brow. "I do believe Menzoberranzan has many fighters."  
  
"None who would so easily defy the will of Lloth."  
  
The words his Zaknafein in the chest like a blast of cold magic. He staggered back, completely caught off all aware.  
  
"Why would you assume that?" he asked sharply, knowing full well that his tone gave away any hopes of putting doubt in her mind.  
  
He could just imagine a shifty smile on the drow's face, shadowed by the cover of her cloak's cowl. "I have my sources."  
  
"Next time, make sure they are reliable," he snapped, turning to walk away.  
  
"Do not forget this offer," she told him, a warning in her voice.  
  
Zak stopped, but did not turn. "Do not forget my refusal, Lord-"  
  
She laughed. "I am nothing but Lea'Veril. I used that to get you to come. I thought you might be more willing to accept if you thought-"  
  
"As you can so plainly see, you were mistaken. Good night, Mistress Lea'Veril." Zak walked away, heading back to the dark city streets of Menzoberranzan.  
  
Left behind, Lea'Veril stood, her lips thin and determined. She was not one to give in so easily. She would wait. Zaknafein Do'Urden would help her before the end.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Sir." Jarlaxle's head shot up as the door opened. He had been dozing again.  
  
"What is it, lieutenant?" he asked stiffly, having just woken up. Melyac bowed in apology for interrupting Jarlaxle's unintentional nap.  
  
"I thought you might like to know, sir, that we spotted Zaknafein Do'Urden wandering through the city. It appears he was heading to the Clawrift."  
  
Jarlaxle waved away the news with his hand. "The Do'Urden weapons-master is more than capable of taking care of himself."  
  
Melyac nodded, even though he didn't walk away. "But sir, those drow we met two nights ago-they were following him."  
  
Jarlaxle did not reply.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The drow spy Helarin grinned lazily as he surveyed the room he was in, the bedchambers of Zaknafein Do'Urden. Lea was supposed to keep the weapons- master detained for as long as she could, but Helarin knew that he had best hurry. The last thing he wanted was to be caught breaking into the deadly drow's room.  
  
"Nice," Helarin breathed, picking up one of the fine daggers that lay hidden around Zaknafein's room. Its blade had recently been sharpened, its point deadly. Helarin carefully set it back into place, making certain that he did not touch the cold metal of the dagger. He could tell without a second glance that it was laced with poison.  
  
Lea had sent him to see what the weapons-master was like and he had learned much in the time he had spent exploring the room. But he knew now that he had best be going on his way.  
  
Helarin remorsefully put a sculpted crystal back on the shelf. So many fineries. . . . Would Zaknafein realize if something were to be missing?  
  
Of course he would, Helarin thought dryly. He turned away from the shelf, preparing the spell to leave.  
  
The door to the room rattled and Helarin gave a jump. Quickly he pulled from his robes a pouch. Sprinkling its contents on the floor around him, he vanished.  
  
And not a second too soon.  
  
The door opened and Zaknafein Do'Urden walked in.  
  
_________________________________  
  
Okay. Here we go.  
  
I have been trying to balance all of this writing. I am writing a Harry Potter fanfiction, trying to start an Old Kingdom one, and continuing this. Plus, there are the two actual books I have been writing on my own. * blinks eyes, dazed from constant computer-screen viewing *  
  
Anyway, this is sort of an apology and thank-you thing rolled into one. I'm sorry that Chapter IV was so short. Been busy, as you can tell. I'll try to get the chapters back to "normal" length. I needed some filler before I send Zak off. =) (Yes, action is on its way. Brace yourselves, people.)  
  
Thank you to all those who have been reading Invisible Chains and those who have been reviewing it. I really appreciate it and wanted to tell you all thank you. =) It means a lot when I see new reviews, as I know it does to all writers.  
  
Welps, now I'm off to write some more on this book idea I have been messing around with. Something with magic and thieves. . .great. LOL, I have no idea where it's heading.  
  
Thanks again, guys!  
  
~Aithne, TheBladedancer  
  
_________________________________ 


	8. Chapter VI

Chapter VI  
  
The party heading to the surface raid was gathering together, readying to leave on their journey. Jarlaxle watched from the dark as the drow selected for the raid began their march out into the deeper caverns of the Underdark, leaving Menzoberranzan behind.  
  
"He's going through with the raid then?" a soft voice asked at his side. Jarlaxle turned, hardly seeming surprised.  
  
"Apparently," he dryly told the approaching drow. He took a second glance and raised his brow questionably. "Shouldn't a drow like you be in your house? The streets are dangerous."  
  
The frosty smile was still on the drow female's face as she lowered her cowl and looked Jarlaxle in the eye.  
  
"Mistress Lea," the mercenary said sternly, straightening his back, "someone like you would find no advantage to being seen out here in the allies of the city. I suggest you put your cowl back on." His voice was like ice.  
  
Her reply was cold with accusation. "You still don't trust me, do you?"  
  
Jarlaxle's eyes widened. "Of course not," he responded, crossing his arms as the last of the raiding party vanished from sight. "Your men warned me to stay off of the streets-why would I trust anyone who does that? And in the first place, why would I trust anyone?" His burning eyes flashed to her and she winced from the pressure of his stare.  
  
"I had no idea that my men would do that," she admitted, lowering her head to escape Jarlaxle's eyes. "They have answered for their deeds, trust me."  
  
Jarlaxle offered no reply.  
  
"Have you considered my offer?" she asked him.  
  
Jarlaxle leaned against the wall of the building, seeming relaxed and comfortable. "Of course I have," he replied stoutly.  
  
"Well?" she pressed.  
  
Jarlaxle's face twisted as he muttered sarcastically, "Well, miss, I am going to need more time."  
  
"More time?" she echoed exasperatedly. "Time is running out, Jarlaxle!"  
  
Jarlaxle's eyes flickered at her tone. He turned his head to her and snapped quickly, "I am not a person to hurry into situations that do not favor me. Your problem-as it is your problem-is no different. What you want to do is dangerous, Mistress Lea'Veril."  
  
Lea snorted. As if she had forgotten.... "Things in Menzoberranzan are changing," she told him simply, "and not for the better. If what is being planned takes place...." Her voice drifted off in a disheartened sigh. "I want to make things right."  
  
"The predicaments drow place themselves into are not always easy to fix." Jarlaxle sighed, looking at Lea. "I am making no promise to help you in this. You have started something that only you can stop-I won't guarantee the Bregan D'aerthe's aid."  
  
"Understood," she agreed, disappointed but keeping her voice strong. "But what will Jarlaxle do...since the Bregan D'aerthe has been spoken for?" Her eyes lit up again as she watched Jarlaxle contemplate her question.  
  
"We'll see what he will do when the time comes," Jarlaxle replied, his voice low. Without another word, he smoothly glided to his feet and walked away.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Well?" Helarin asked eagerly as soon as Lea'Veril had entered the room. "What did he say?"  
  
Lea'Veril whisked off her long cloak and lay it on the arm of a cushioned chair. "Jarlaxle will aid us," she said with certainty.  
  
"He agreed?!" Helarin coughed, his hands twitching with delight.  
  
Lea shrugged nonchalantly. "He didn't disagree," she put in, her voice quiet.  
  
Helarin's excitement ended quickly. "Well, that means nothing," he replied sourly.  
  
"He'll help us," Lea assured him strongly. Helarin nodded, but his former enthusiasm wasn't there.  
  
"Lea'Veril?" a voice called from another room. "Is that you?"  
  
Lea'Veril glided across the floor and entered the chambers of the Matron Mother L'lonneal. The old, withered drow sunk against her pillows weakly and Lea'Veril's lips thinned as she sensed the sickness in the room.  
  
She strode towards the bed, but stopped shortly before, bowing low in respect. "Matron L'lonneal, I've returned home," she said.  
  
"Good, daughter," she rasped, her voice trying to show her former strength. It came out only as a whisper.  
  
"Are you alright?" Lea asked, looking at her mother's hollowed face and lifeless eyes. "Should I send a-"  
  
"I'm not leaving you with much, Lea," L'lonneal pouted guiltily, "but I hope this life will suit you. The house is not the strongest but-"  
  
"You're not dying yet," Lea said strongly. L'lonneal reached out with a bony hand and grasped her wrist. Lea had to order herself not to shudder.  
  
"I am old," L'lonneal stated, the loudest her voice had been since Lea arrived back. "I will not lost much longer. House Gauka D'teknil will be yours soon."  
  
Not if Z'ress has anything to say about it, Lea grumbled in her mind, thinking of her sister.  
  
"Matron L'lonneal!" came a shriek from behind. Hastily bowing her respect, Z'ress hurried to the matron mother's bedside.  
  
And speaking of.... Lea carefully hid her annoyed expression at sight of her sister.  
  
Z'ress watched the matron mother was horror striken in her eyes. Matron L'lonneal was still.  
  
"Lea'Veril," she gasped, using Lea's full name. "Is she-"  
  
"She isn't dead," Lea replied stiffly. The young drow slid to her feet and shuffled out of the room. "She's only sleeping again."  
  
Z'ress didn't seem convinced, but she followed her younger sister out of the room without another word.  
  
Helarin was still waiting patiently when Lea breezed into the anteroom. "She lives," she told him quickly, not even waiting for him to ask the question. Z'ress opened the door and walked in, not far behind Lea.  
  
"But she won't last much longer," she added, passing Lea a glare. It was no secret of their animosity. When Matron L'lonneal promised her youngest daughter the house, feelings were bound to arise.  
  
Helarin felt the flares beginning to burn in each of them and he quickly stepped in to intervene. "Lea, you've been out. Perhaps you should go into your room to rest?"  
  
If any other male would have spoken to any other female in that way, he would have been killed. But Lea followed his advice without complaint, breezing away from her sister and leaving them alone.  
  
"She will not be a good matron mother for this house, Helarin," Z'ress told the drow spy. "She will not bring us glory in Lloth's name."  
  
Helarin shrugged, feeling the swords at his hips. He had been the weapons- master for House D'teknil for many years. He had watched both Z'ress and Lea'Veril grow, learning of the world of drow around them. He was convinced neither had come away unscathed.  
  
"Fortunately," he said distastefully, "that matter doesn't have to be discussed. Matron L'lonneal has already promised Mistress Lea'Veril the house. The decision has been made."  
  
Z'ress eyes narrowed and she skirted away from Helarin. "Have it your way," she snapped as she threw open the door. It clipped her in the heel as it swung close and Helarin could not hold back a spiteful smirk. 


	9. Chapter VII

Chapter VII  
  
"Tonight," Aniyia said, smiling brightly. "The ceremony will be tonight."  
  
"Tonight?" Sapek echoed. Had the time passed to quickly? It seemed like yesterday Nevina had been born....  
  
"Yes," Aniyia replied, "tonight. The moon is full and everything has been prepared. The ceremony will take place after dark."  
  
Dessaven grinned, unable to hold back her happiness. Baby Nevina was in her husband's arms, but he glanced up away from the baby to look at Aniyia.  
  
"Will everything go alright?" he asked, worry lining his voice like lace. "I'm-"  
  
"You're a nervous parent," Aniyia fussed and Dessaven smiled again, her full lips curving upward. Sapek was silent, but he flushed in embarrassment.  
  
"Of course everything will go alright," Aniyia went on happily. "It's just a ceremony for a newborn. It's been done long before our time and will continue to be done."  
  
Sapek nodded although he held Nevina more closely in his arms. "What is there to be done to prepare?"  
  
Aniyia waved her hand, brushing away the question. "Be happy. Your friends and I have nearly prepared everything. Enjoy the day; the sun is shining and the weather-"  
  
"Thank you, Aniyia," Sapek interrupted, the baby stretching in his arms. Nevina woke with a start and began wailing. Aniyia smiled, and catching her unsaid cue, left them alone.  
  
"So tonight Nevina becomes one of us," Dessaven hummed as Sapek handed the baby to her.  
  
"Tonight she does," her husband agreed. He glanced up at the sky and scowled. "I hope it doesn't rain."  
  
"It won't," Dessaven assured him pleasantly. She arranged Nevina, who had stopped crying, in her lap.  
  
"And why are you so certain?" Sapek asked teasingly.  
  
Dessaven glanced up at the sky. "The gods won't ruin Nevina's day."  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The surface. It was never a terribly pleasant place to be for the drow-the sun burned their eyes and the hatred for their sun-cousins ached them to no end. Or so it was for normal dark elves. Zaknafein remembered the last time he had come to the surface, not long after his graduation from the Melee- Magthere. He remembered the battle against the surface-dwellers, and he remembered the glorious sight of a rainbow as he had left.  
  
With a numbing sort of realization, Zaknafein suddenly came to understand that he had no feelings of hatred for his surface kin. If anything, he had an odd sort of envy that filled him with longing.  
  
But those were the sort of feelings and emotions that Zaknafein had trained himself well to hide. Instead of a desperate look for freedom on his face, Zak stoically trudged up the large mound of earth to look at the tribe of humans below.  
  
They had reached their camp late in the night, after traveling on the surface for many days. Some drow had already begun to complain about the sun in their journey, and so it was good that they came across the merchant caravan when they did. The raid that would take place this night would definitely please Lloth.  
  
"They are unprepared and defenseless," a young drow said at Zak's side. The weapons-master turned his head, looking to see who was speaking.  
  
His lips thinned. The drow was young; he must have just graduated from the Melee-Magthere. A lesser house, Zaknafein warranted by the looks of him. He thought a moment, searching his mind for a name to accompany the boy's face, but none came.  
  
"I was told we would strike at dusk, sir," he continued, hardly seeming to notice Zak's lack of response. "Is it true?"  
  
"It's true," Zaknafein had to admit. He knew that his voice was stiff; he hoped the drow beside him didn't notice.  
  
Apparently it went through his mind without a single thought. "Good," he spat darkly, "it's time we teach them."  
  
Zak did not reply. He turned without another word and climbed down the hill, wandering out of sight.  
  
Of course the people were unprepared! Zak thought bitterly. This was a drow raiding party, not a band of fools. Why would the humans there even consider dark elves? Rarely did raiding parties come to the surface-it was just bad fortune for the people to be caught by the drow.  
  
But they can do nothing now, Zak pondered sadly. We have already spotted them and they cannot possibly get away. Tonight blood will be spilled and they will be the ones to die.  
  
"Zaknafein!" a voice called melodically. Zak turned to the sound of his name and saw a drow waving for him to come.  
  
"Battle preparations already," Zak muttered remorsefully as a cloud passed over the sun, dimming the blazing heat. Silent, Zaknafein walked back to his fellow drow-his fellow raiders and killers.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
She was oblivious to the chanting, even though the words came from her own mouth. She didn't even see the mist gliding through the room, although it was nearly choking her. Her eyes were glazed and she was perfectly still, except for her mouth. She spoke words she barely knew, her trance too deep to be penetrated.  
  
Her chanting grew louder, breaking free of the monotone. Her voice flitted around the octaves, a sing-song sound like bells in a morning breeze. The smoke seemed to grow darker and the fires in the brazier flared higher, well over the height of a man.  
  
Her voice grew louder and louder! She was screaming now and her throat was beginning to burn, but still her chanting continued. She couldn't break the spell now. Not after all she had gone through.  
  
"Vengeance!" she cried out, a word in the Common tongue that she did not know. "Power! Glory!" The words fell like raindrops from her mouth. There was no stopping them, even if she tried!  
  
"Peace-breaker!" she screamed, pain in her voice. "Havoc-maker! Make me your vessel!"  
  
Suddenly time stopped and everything was still. There was no cackling of the fire, no chanting, no breathing. Time stopped and there was nothing.  
  
But the nothing was worse than the chanting and fire. Pain wrapped around her, twisting her mind, running through her veins like poison. She felt death calling to her, beckoning her closer.  
  
But she refused the call. The drow held onto the spell, her mind screaming in fear and agony. This spell was beyond her! She wouldn't survive!  
  
It is almost complete, a small voice sneered in the back of her mind. Hang on to the spell, weakling.  
  
And then the explosion came. There was no noise to accompany the blast, but it happened still the same. The sorceress was thrown back, slammed against the back wall. Ripples ran through the air like waves; echoes flooded through Menzoberranzan, through Ched Nasad, through the entire Underdark.  
  
The fires in the brazier died, flashing a deep purple before disappearing into nothingness.  
  
The drow priestess smiled, slowly coming out of her daze. She planted her hands firmly on the floor as she propped herself up weakly. She blinked a few times, and steadied herself. It seemed like she had been in her trance for days, although she knew without a doubt it had only been a matter of hours.  
  
The first step has been finished, the voice in her mind went on.  
  
She had passed!  
  
Her smile broke into a grin. She was a vessel of the Dark Lady now. There would be no stopping her.  
  
Soon, she thought, leaning against the back wall weakly, it will be mine. I will have the power to destroy and create. I'll have the strength to raise armies at my very whim.  
  
Or, she added wickedly, destroy them.  
  
Soon, she thought, the MoonCrest will be mine.  
  
_________________________________________  
  
Dear Deplorable Minions,  
  
No, Jarlaxle has not been drugged, and no, he is not under and magical spells. =P Jarlaxle is simply Jarlaxle. I know that last chapter left you all in sort a cliffhanger there. It was meant to leave you with questions - I think it worked.  
  
Have no fear! Those questions will be answered (for the most part) in the next one or two chapters. So, in other words, no answers will be given out here. =P Be patient.  
  
I am sorry I never had a chance to update this past week. I was on vacation and fresh out of internet-access. I did however plan what was going to happen in the next few chapters. You people are going to kill me. =P  
  
~Aithne, TheBladedancer  
  
PS-Thanks again to all my reviews. It means a lot and I appreciate every single one. (Chichix, of course I care what you write!! You are a great writer so have faith in your work - doubting yourself is just not healthy. =P)  
  
PPS-Excuse the formality of the letter - er, somewhat. My computer/fanfiction site is acting up and apostrophes and some special characters are going wild. 


	10. Chapter VIII

(So, who missed me? =D)  
  
Chapter VIII  
  
"What in the Nine Hells was that?" Jarlaxle demanded, his voice cut short in his frustration. His fists were tight balls on the desk before him. His hat was tilted up so that everyone in the room could see the unmasked look of rage.  
  
Melyac stood before the leader of the band stoically, although his composure was beginning to slip away as Jarlaxle's wrath crept forward. "We do not know, sir," he replied honestly. "Some sort of magic was used but-"  
  
Jarlaxle's eyes narrowed in his fury and Melyac's voice fled him. "I know it was magic," Jarlaxle breathed, his voice dangerously quiet, restrained by some invisible leash. He took in a deep breath to steady himself. "Has one of the wizards traced the origin?"  
  
"None have been able to, sir," another lieutenant replied. Jarlaxle glanced at him, his eyes leaving Melyac quickly. Melyac immediately felt relief.  
  
"Why?" the mercenary questioned. He crossed his arms, his back straight and his head cocked to the side as he waited for the answer.  
  
The lieutenant, a strong drow, muscles corded tightly, responded coolly, "The spell was protected by the caster. We have tried everything to find the one who cast it."  
  
"You've tried everything?" Jarlaxle repeated, his voice subdued again as if his anger were ebbing. His lieutenants relaxed slightly as they nodded obediently. A long moment passed in a deathly still silence. No one dared to even move.  
  
"Leave me now." The lieutenants did not question the command, but they glanced at their leader, watching as Jarlaxle's tense body seemed to loosen as he called out after them, "Find out who cast that spell!"  
  
The drow shuffled out of the room without another word and once the door was closed, Jarlaxle began to pace quickly. Back and forth he went, briskly thinking, his hands folded behind his back.  
  
That had been a powerful spell. Incredibly powerful. More powerful than he believed drow in Menzoberranzan were capable of, even Baerne herself. But he didn't know things that were terrible important to know.  
  
Who had cast it? And more importantly, why had it been used? The magical orb that hung at Jarlaxle's neck alerted him to powerful or hidden magics, but never had he felt it alert him with such urgency as it had just minutes before. Something was happening.  
  
He thought back to Lea'Veril. Perhaps she was correct in what she had told him.... Perhaps....  
  
No, Jarlaxle reprimanded himself silently, don't make assumptions yet. Now he only needed to know who had cast the spell...but how?  
  
Suddenly, the mercenary stopped pacing. Jarlaxle knew the comings and goings of the magic society in the city. He knew which wizards and priestesses were powerful enough to become a threat.  
  
And now it was time to pay one of them a visit.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Did you feel that?" Helarin asked, his voice dulled with urgent worry.  
  
Lea snorted caustically. "Of course I did. That wave of magic was hard not to miss." She looked around the room, her hand brushing past a stack of thick books to fall on a quill.  
  
Helarin missed the obvious sarcasm. "Time is slipping away, Lea," he warned as Lea's scrawl began to trail from the quill in slick, sweeping ink. "I know you felt what was in that spell. She wants the MoonCrest and now she knows where it is."  
  
"She will not get it," Lea replied shortly, accenting each word with a profound attack. She glanced up from the letter she was beginning to write. "The MoonCrest is safe for now," she assured the weapons-master.  
  
Helarin shook his head, letting her words fall away, unheeded. "We don't know that," he breathed, desperately trying to make her see. Lea's eyes snapped to him, this time in a flaring anger.  
  
"The MoonCrest has been protected for countless ages, Helarin," she said quickly. "Need I remind you where it is hidden?" Helarin fell silent, but Lea was not finished. "Time may very well be running short, but it has not all together vanished. That spell might have just given her an inkling of where the MoonCrest is, but she hasn't found it yet. And to our advantage, her little spell just gave Jarlaxle the push he needed to help us." She didn't let her gaze linger on Helarin. Instead, she went back immediately to her writing.  
  
Helarin opened his mouth as if he were going to reply, but closed it quickly. Frustrated, he left Lea in the room, the constant scratching of the quill's tip driving into his mind well after he had closed the door.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The fire flickered brightly even as Sapek walked away, the torch still tight in his hand. He walked towards the barrel of blessed water and plunged the burning torch into it. The water hissed and steam immediately brewed into the air, turning a dark purple in color. The magic of the steam twanged the heartstrings of Sapek as he returned to his wife's side.  
  
"It is started!" Aniyia called out to the crowd of people that had gathered to watch the ceremony. Her voice seemed to defy the woman's age for it rang with the underlining of a youth's strength. "Let it continue as well!"  
  
She walked to Dessaven and slowly prodded her for the baby. Dessaven looked longingly at her daughter, suddenly wishing that the ceremony would not take place.  
  
"Don't worry," the wise-woman whispered, offering a comforting smile. "Everything is fine." Dessaven struggled to nod, a lump in her throat. She was so nervous, despite Aniyia's words.  
  
Aniyia took the baby into her arms and circled the fire once with her. Once she had made a complete circle, she knelt down. Her hand brushed through the baby's hair as she set Nevina on the ground.  
  
And then Aniyia stood, her hand on her knee to help her upright. She reached into the folds of her clothes and produced a small leather satchel. Pulling apart the closing knot, she walked close to the fire, spilling the contents-a fine black powder-onto the licking flames.  
  
The fire burned brighter and then changed to a smoky white, sending dark green smoke up. Sapek glanced at his wife and he saw her shudder despite the warmth of the glowing fire.  
  
"Gods above us and gods around us," Aniyia chanted slowly, her old voice filled with a wisdom none around her possessed. The baby lay near the huge fire, just out of reach of the licking flames, but close enough so that Nevina's face glowed by the light of the fire.  
  
"Gods of air and sea, gods of earth and flame...." She stood before the fire, her chanting steadily growing louder in the heat of the ceremony. If Aniyia felt the eyes of the crowd behind her, she did not show it. She was absorbed by the burning magic of the ceremony, consumed by the flicker of the gray fire.  
  
"Nothing is happening," Dessaven whispered nervously. She and Sapek stood just out of reach of the fire's glow, their faces covered in nightly shadow, an eerie absence of light.  
  
Sapek didn't reply, but he took her hand into his and held it, squeezing it slightly for comfort. Dessaven watched fearfully as Aniyia lifted Nevina and began to circle the fire once again.  
  
"Nevina!" she cried. The baby began to cry, too startled to remain silent. Aniyia did not break her pace. "Nevina!" she screamed again. The gray fires flared upward instantly.  
  
"We bring her forward into this world," Aniyia screeched as the fire's cackle and hiss began to grow. "Let the gods know her name and let her foes tremble at her sight! Let her learn the way of her people! May she grow and learn in the way of nature's temple. May she respect life and the gods. Let it ring! Let it be!"  
  
The fires scorched up, higher than before so that they towered over Aniyia. Nevina cried and Dessaven trembled, the power of Aniyia's words falling over them and chilling them like ice.  
  
The fires suddenly died, leaving only glowing embers in the night's darkness and a gentle smoke that rose in the wind.  
  
"Nevina she is and Nevina she will remain," Aniyia said quietly, holding the baby in the crook of her arm. She walked towards Dessaven and Sapek slowly.  
  
"She is alright?" Dessaven asked worriedly, reaching for the whimpering baby. Aniyia nodded, smiling weakly, her eyes showing her age.  
  
Sapek draped one arm around his wife and looked down at Nevina, who was wriggling in her mother's arms. "Thank you, Aniyia," he said. The old woman gave a single nod and then turned away.  
  
The crowd behind Sapek and Dessaven followed suit, leaving Dessaven and Sapek alone with their daughter, alone with the dying embers of the forgotten fire.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"What did you see, Zaknafein?" the leader of the raid asked crossly. "You were sent out as a scout nearly an hour ago."  
  
Zak was hardly concerned with the harsh look he was being given. "The people were having a ceremony of some sort."  
  
"A ceremony?" one of the drow echoed questionably. Zaknafein nodded.  
  
"I believe they were baptizing one of their young," he explained. "Nothing more," he added, glancing at the head of the raid. "Will we still attack as planned?"  
  
The silence was difficult and Zak had time to pray to whatever gods that might be listening, to pray that the raid would be called off.  
  
"We will attack as we planned. Hurry, the moon is almost above us."  
  
"Time for the fun," the leader of the raid laughed. Zak beside him forced a grim smile, hoping it passed for the demented of eagerness of those around him. The leader's hand moved quickly, giving the signal to the second group of drow.  
  
"Let's go!" he whispered in the drow tongue. 


	11. Chapter IX

(Redone for the sake of Chichix. Any better to your liking? ;D  
  
Chapter IX  
  
The cry came to Zaknafein's ears as sharp as any weapon could come to his heart.  
  
"Drow!"  
  
Zaknafein swallowed hard, trying to gulp down the guilt that came into his mind with the hearing of the word. The drow beside him came down from the crest of the hill, flooding over the grass like a wave of evil.  
  
No one but Zaknafein seemed to pay any mind to the call. No one stopped and no one felt the dread that poured into Zak's heart. He stopped, his feet faltering. One drow leapt pass him, glee and triumph on his face. There was no doubt who would be the victors this dark day.  
  
"Zaknafein!" a drow called. The weapons-master turned his head, looking at the drow who had called his name: a young drow a few feet to his left, his hair braided in an unusual style so that twisted white locks rained down his back. "Hurry or no kills will be left for you! Today is the day we please Lloth!"  
  
The young fighter smiled encouragingly at Zaknafein, not understanding why the weapons-master had stopped his run.  
  
"Today is the day we pleased Lloth," Zaknafein whispered to himself grimly. He unsheathed his swords and followed his kin down the hill.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Run!" Aniyia screamed at the frightened people. "You will not live if you don't run!" Her words poured life into the frozen merchants, stiff with fear. Aniyia pushed one of the men in front of her.  
  
"Take your children and go, Mera," she ordered him sternly, like a mother admonishing her child. "There is no time to waste here."  
  
She moved on quickly, knowing that few would survive this assualt. She remembered her past, when the drow had attacked many years ago when she was only a child. She knew what the evil of the dark elves would bring upon the innocent people she loved. Aniyia would not let the destruction of the drow haunt her again.  
  
"The elves!" a small girl cooed breathlessly near the side of a wagon. Her small arm rested gently on the curve of the wagon wheel. "Mama, look at the elves!" The girl turned, her wide eyes looking for her mother.  
  
"Mama?"  
  
Her mother was no where to be seen, but Aniyia was quick to react.  
  
"Come, dear," she said in a soothing voice, offering her hands to lift the child up. The small girl trusted the old woman and did not hesitate.  
  
"Where's Mama?" she asked as Aniyia placed the small girl comfortably on her hip. "She's missing the elves."  
  
Aniyia struggled to push her way past the frightened people. She had had no reason to flee before. Her own self was in danger and that was all. Now she was in charge of a child...one who had many years ahead of her to live.  
  
Aniyia ran to the center of the camp where the crowd was thinner. People all around her were fleeing to the woods, seeking some sort of refuge from the drow who were just beginning to spill into the camp.  
  
The little girl glanced over Aniyia's shoulder, still fascinated by the elves. She suddenly gave a jerk in Aniyia's arms. The woman did not stop though, keeping her fast pace that so defied her age.  
  
"Aniyia, wait!" The old woman obeyed, sensing the urgency in the girl's voice. "Mama is there!" Aniyia turned her head to get a view. The girl was right...but there was nothing either of them could do.  
  
The drow were beside the mother before any of them had had a second to absorb the horror around them. Aniyia sword the drow's sword flail out, sweeping along the throat of the woman.  
  
The girl screamed, a high-pitched cry that shattered the world around them all. Ears of elves perked up at that scream.  
  
It was the scream of a child.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Sapek spun around helplessly. He was caught in the densest part of the crowd, an unwilling man in the tug of the fleeing people.  
  
"Dessaven!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Dess, where are you?!"  
  
He dug his foot into the ground, his heel pushing into the soil. He would hold his ground and wait for his wife. The pull of the crowd fought him only for a moment. Soon the people were going around him, too scared to concern themselves with him.  
  
He looked around hurriedly. Where was Dessaven? He had been beside her when the drow had first appeared, but then the men and woman running had separated them, driving them away from each other. The last thing he had seen of her was of the fear in her brown eyes and her hands tight on the back of Nevina.  
  
He had to find her.  
  
Sapek turned frantically in his place, feeling the elbows of those passing him drive into his stomach and side. He was searching in vain, he knew, but at least he must try.  
  
A scream of death came into his ears from an all-too-close position. The drow had begun their killing. There was not much time now.  
  
"Sapek!" The man's eyes widened instantly and he turned to see his wife, Nevina in her arms.  
  
Sapek pushed through the crowd, his arms outstretched to reach his wife and pull in her into the safety of his embrace.  
  
"We need to hurry," he said urgently. Dessaven only nodded, and they let themselves feel the tug of the passing people, joining them in their mindless run from the bloodthirsty drow.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Aniyia was in the forest now, but her energy was quickly leaving her body. Much of her strength had gone into the magic of the ceremony, and now she was being forced to run for her life and for the life of the child she held in her arms. It was that thought alone that kept her going.  
  
She heard the voices of the drow follow her, their light footsteps barely audible. She knew that they were taking no care in stealth. Otherwise, she knew without a doubt, that they would come upon her in silence, leaving her dead before she even could tell she was being followed.  
  
The girl shuddered in her sobs. Aniyia felt the girl's tears rolling down her bare arm, her sleeve ripped from some unknown time in her escape.  
  
"Shh," Aniyia whispered, putting a soothing hand on the back of the girl's neck. "Soon we'll be safe." The girl nodded, trusting in the wisdom of the woman.  
  
But Aniyia did not feel the certainty with which she had spoken the words. In fact, she knew that it was fear that was consuming her mind. They would not escape.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Zaknafein let the body fall from his blade, relishing in the sickening sound as the cold metal came free from the dead weight of the kill. Blood stained his swords, a testament to the power he had within his marrow.  
  
"Good hunting!" a drow called to him, finishing up a kill of his own. Zak saluted him with a darkened blade. The moonlight came free of a cloud above them, and the cold moon shone down its radiance upon the blade.  
  
Zaknafein staggered back, his eyes wide in horror. He nearly lost his footing in the darkness of the camp, nearly tripping and falling to the bloodstained ground beneath him.  
  
He looked at his swords again, twin angels of death.  
  
What had he done?  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Sapek and Dessaven had made it to the forest. They ran on, following those before them. They could only trust that their predecessors knew the way to safety.  
  
"How far will the follow us, Sapek?" Dessaven stammered, gasping for air. Nevina was screaming in her arms.  
  
Sapek shook his head, tightening his clutch on Dessaven's hand. "I don't know," was his reply.  
  
Did it even matter? They would run for an eternity, never ceasing, as long as they escaped the drow.  
  
Sapek heard the dying moans of a man behind him and he knew that the drow were not far. Many of the people in the merchants' caravan were ahead of them, nearly free from the pursuing drow.  
  
"Dessaven," Sapek panted, still running. Dessaven didn't even glance at him as he tugged at her hand, pulling ahead slightly. "Go with Nevina and keep running."  
  
Dessaven's head flashed to her husband, her eyes sharp and intense. "Where are you going?"  
  
Sapek turned his head to glimpse behind him. The shadows of nightly attackers were nearly invisible as they blended with the umbrage of the trees. The drow were swift in their hunt.  
  
"I will hold them back," Sapek promised her. "There's no chance that you will make it to safety unless I give you more time."  
  
Dessaven shook her head firmly, struggling to keep her husbands strong pace. "I will not leave you behind."  
  
"Think of Nevina, Dess," Sapek pleaded, stopping suddenly, and drawing her close. They had such few precious seconds. "Go for her."  
  
Dessaven stared into his clear eyes, so sure of his decision. "Find us when this massacre has ended," she breathed, tears lining her beautiful eyes.  
  
Sapek smiled at her, kissing her passionately on the lips. Then he pushed her away sternly, hearing the drumming of drow feet marching towards them.  
  
"Go!" he shouted at her. Dessaven spun on her heel, her long hair falling out of the scarf that had bound it so that it flowed behind her in waves of darkness.  
  
She did not look back. 


	12. Chapter X

Chapter X  
  
They had been separated from all others who had been fleeing the drow, and now the woods was silent.  
  
Aniyia dared to hope that they had broken free of the drow's sharp eyes and were at the moment safe. She stopped, her heart thudding in her chest as she sucked in gasps of air.  
  
"Aniyia, where-"  
  
"Shh, child," Aniyia whispered, brushing her hand through the young girl's hair. She knelt down and set the girl on the ground. When she stood, her hand sought the sturdy comfort of the tree, giving her support when she was so near to collapsing.  
  
"Where are we going?" the girl asked, her voice low.  
  
Aniyia smiled down at her. "To a safe place," she replied softly and soothingly. "To a place where the elves won't find us."  
  
The girl seemed satisfied with the answer and questioned no more. She curled up into a tiny ball, still crying from the brutal killing of her mother.  
  
Aniyia looked down at her with pity, knowing that one so young should never have to witness the cruelty that the drow brought on. She had been in the same position has the girl, had seen the same innocent blood spilt.  
  
She knew that no one else should have to bear the same memories as she.  
  
Aniyia looked around the tree, her old eyes searching for any drow that might be sneaking up on them. There was no one.  
  
She sighed, relieved that maybe there was hope. Her eyes drifted down to the girl at her feet. They would make it to safety.  
  
The crunch of a twig, snapping in the silence of the forest, was the only warning Aniyia got. The next thing she knew, pain exploded in her back, her chest burning in a livid heat.  
  
Aniyia fell to the ground, feeling the essence of life pour from her, spilling onto the cold earth. The last thing she heard as her eyes went forever dark was the scream of the little girl, the scream of a promised death...the scream of a child.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The two drow stopped when they saw Sapek turn and brandish a dagger. Evil sneers appeared on their faces, the bloodlust in their eyes suddenly replaced with something much darker...the sinister humor of the drow.  
  
"He wants a fight," one of the drow observed. Sapek's nose crinkled at the words, spoken in such a foreign language. "Shall we give it to him, Jeaern?"  
  
"We cannot disappoint such a valiant human," Jeaern snickered, his voice dripping in a mocking evil.  
  
The first drow raised his blade before Sapek's eyes, holding it as if he were displaying a trophy.  
  
"See the blood?" he asked, but Sapek did not understand the words that came out. The man could guess well enough what they meant.  
  
He lunged forward, his small dagger, beating against the side of the drow's blade. He knew that there would be no winning for him, no pride of victory. He was doing this only to give Dessaven time to run, to escape the drow.  
  
"Weakling," Jeaern scoffed. "Not even worthy of our time."  
  
"Every kill pleases the Dark Lady," the first drow reminded him. "Let us make her proud to call us her children."  
  
The two drow exchanged smiles, and Sapek winced at that more than the dark glint in their eyes.  
  
Jeaern brought his sword in a loose attack, one he knew that the man could parry. His companion followed his lead, attacking slow, giving the human enough time to counter.  
  
They are toying with you, a voice inside of Sapek laughed. They know that you will die. Give in and accept their mercy.  
  
Drow mercy? another voice within him questioned.  
  
"Never," Sapek growled under his breath. His foot soared out unexpectedly, slamming into the stomach of Jeaern. The drow fell back, losing his balance.  
  
"Kill him!" Jeaern ordered loudly, his face flushing in embarrassment. He had let his confidence best him, and it the attack had wounded his pride. He would not tolerate the man to live a second more.  
  
The drow's sword easily batted Sapek's dagger aside and before the man could bring it back to block the dark elf's weapon, it had plunged deep into his stomach, nearly to the hilt.  
  
Sapek went to scream, but his he choked back the words. The last thing Sapek saw was Jeaern standing above him, anger pulsing in his eyes. The drow feet moved away, heading towards his helpless wife and baby.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Zaknafein watched from the edge of the forest as the man dropped to the ground in death. He felt no remorse over the dead man. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything.  
  
The blood of his blades still stained his mind. He was like ice to anyone who would touch him. A hollow spirit in a forest of death....  
  
"Zaknafein!" a drow called cheerfully, breaking his thoughts.  
  
Zak turned, his lips thin in his lack of emotion. A drow offered him a friendly smile.  
  
"Zaknafein," he said again, "how much blood has your blade tasted tonight?"  
  
The weapons-master looked disgusted, but the drow before him took the look as jealousy. "I am sure that Lloth is pleased with you," the drow said, gesturing towards Zaknafein's swords. They still twinkled red in the moonlight.  
  
Play the role you have survived with, a voice warned him. The effects of your actions will follow you to Menzoberranzan.  
  
Zaknafein swallowed hard and raised his blade higher so that the drow could get an even better look. The crimson glinted on the smooth metal. His throat closed with repulsion, but he turned a smile towards the drow beside him.  
  
"Lloth will be pleased with House Do'Urden," he agreed.  
  
"Very much so!" the drow laughed.  
  
Zak smiled broadly and bowed. He rose and glanced deeper into the woods. The woman carrying the baby he had seen baptized was still running in the woods. He knew that it would not be long before Jeaern caught her.  
  
"I hear another calling for my blades," he told the drow. "I cannot disappoint her."  
  
The laughter of the drow trailed Zaknafein as he sprinted further into the forest. His footsteps were light and quick as he hurried to catch the woman. He knew that he Jeaern reached her first, there would be nothing left to save.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Dessaven's feet rolled along the soft soil as she fled. She knew that Sapek was probably dead. Her heart told her as much, but still, she did not have the courage to turn her head in her run and see if he still stood.  
  
She did not know where she was running to, but she ran with all her strength. Holding Nevina tight in her arms, she sped down through the forest, trees whisking by her, the tall, overgrown blades of grass brushing against her legs.  
  
She did not stop. To stop was death. And so she ran.  
  
Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, but she didn't bring up a hand to wipe them away.  
  
"Let them stay there," she told herself angrily. Her teeth bit her bottom lip fiercely. How she longed to rest! It seemed she had been running for years....  
  
Nevina was crying in her arms, her tiny arms lashing out at the air, hitting Dessaven on the shoulder. There was no way for her to understand the horrors that had happened this night, but the running and the screaming caused the baby to shake in her crying.  
  
A cruel chuckle suddenly surrounded her, echoing in the wood. Dessaven stopped immediately, frozen in place by the sound of the hideous laughter. Even Nevina in her arms fell silent, the whimpering of the baby ending as the sound of the laughing evaporated into nothing.  
  
A slender figure suddenly dropped from the trees above her, falling nimbly into a crouch that absorbed the impact of such a high drop. Dessaven screamed, leaping back-  
  
Only to back into a waiting drow.  
  
Dessaven's scream only grew louder.  
  
"She has a baby, Jeaern," the drow said calmly. "What fun."  
  
Jeaern chuckled softly. "Were you running from us?" he asked Dessaven smoothly, knowing full well that she would not understand him. The taunting was for his amusement alone.  
  
He brought his blade to her throat, gently stroking it along her smooth skin. Dessaven's eyes were closed and she shook in fear. She felt her skin being cut gently, not enough to kill her. They were only teasing her.  
  
"Get it done with, Jeaern," the first drow fussed impatiently. "There's more to be done. I had the last one, true, but if you take too long with this girl...."  
  
"Go on," Jeaern said absently. "I want to have some fun this night."  
  
The first drow shrugged grimly and then hurried off, pursuing more of the fleeing men and women.  
  
"Me and you," Jeaern whispered, pulling his sword back to his side. He reached out to take the baby from Dessaven's arms. The woman turned away violently so that her back was to the drow.  
  
She would not let him have her baby!  
  
"You-" He started forward to grab Dessaven's shoulder and turn her around.  
  
"Jeaern!"  
  
The drow turned quickly at the sound of his name being called so sharply. Zaknafein Do'Urden stood only ten paces away.  
  
"Yes?" Jeaern asked impatiently. Dessaven backed away warily, unsure of what to do. There was no way she could escape, even if she ran.  
  
"I claim her," Zaknafein told him. "She ran from me while I killed one she was with. She is mine."  
  
Jeaern shook his head stubbornly. "I chased her and killed the man she was running with. Her death will be my cause."  
  
Zaknafein tensed. Jeaern was from a lesser house, but Zaknafein had heard mention of the drow's skill with the blade. Zaknafein was in no mood to fight anymore this night-not after what he had done-but he would not see any more blood shed on the innocent.  
  
"Go, Jeaern," Zak said sternly. "This is the last time I tell you."  
  
Jeaern stood his ground.  
  
Without any regret, Zaknafein grabbed the dagger that he kept at his waist and threw it had Jeaern. But the throw was only to force Jeaern to block. While the drow's sword came up to block the would-have-been deadly attack, Zaknafein exploded into action. He crossed the distance to Jeaern, coming between the drow and the woman.  
  
His first sword came forward, but Jeaern had just enough time to parry. The dagger fell to the ground harmlessly. But he did not have time to even react to Zaknafein's second blade.  
  
It came high in an arc, gliding through the air to his throat. A line of red appeared as Zaknafein brought down his weapons. Jeaern fell to the ground, falling dead at Zaknafein's feet. 


	13. Chapter XI

Chapter XI  
  
Zak looked down at the woman who still lay on the ground. Knowing that she would not understand anything he said, he took a step back from her, sheathing his blades to hold up his hands peacefully.  
  
She did not seem comforted. Instead she slowly got to her feet-as if her speed would measure the amount of attention Zaknafein gave her-and backed away.  
  
"No," Zaknafein warned her instantly. "The other dr-"  
  
The woman's eyes widened at the sound of his voice, an arcane language far from what she knew. Zak took another step back to show that he did not mean to harm her, but it was took late. The woman ran from him, holding the wailing baby in her arms.  
  
Zak glanced around, knowing that the purpose of the patrol was almost complete. There would not be many of the humans left now. A running woman and her crying babe would draw all too much attention.  
  
The weapon-master watched only for a second's time before he was racing after the woman, following the cries of the child through the turns and twists of the wood. He still did not have his blade drawn. What enemy was he to face if it were he himself that were the enemy feared?  
  
It took him only a moment to catch the woman, his sprint lighter and faster than any human's. He grabbed her forearm gently, his finger's curling around her arm.  
  
The woman screamed and turned madly, struggling to get away. Stunned, Zak immediately let go and backed away. Silence. The woman stopped all movement. Instead she stared at him with wide brown eyes, fierce and unforgiving to what had happened in the village.  
  
How did Jarlaxle do this? Zaknafein thought, licking his lips in concentration. He opened his mouth and then paused. The woman seemed put off by this, but Zak tried again. "I do not mean you any harm," he said slowly in the Common Tongue.  
  
The woman seemed shocked. A drow knew the Common Tongue of the surface? She studied him closer, rocking subconsciously the baby in her arm.  
  
"How-" The dart whizzed through the air. Zak's head flew to the woman and he moved to knock her down, to keep her from the deadly poison of the dart.  
  
Too late. The dart embedded itself deep into her neck. Her beautiful brown eyes looked horrorstruck and her last look was of Zaknafein as she fell to the ground.  
  
Zak leaned forward, his quick reflexes allowing him to catch the baby as the two dropped. The child let out a fiery wail, as the gentle hands of the weapons-master caught her gently.  
  
A drow came into view, emerging from the protection of the trees. Zaknafein glared at him intensely, but the drow did not seem to notice. If he did, the reason of the anger was beyond him completely.  
  
"My apologies, Zaknafein," the drow remarked with a short bow. His bloodied blade's tip touched the ground gently. "I thought you were taking a bit too much time."  
  
Zaknafein said nothing, but he knelt down and set the baby in a patch of grass. The babe stopped crying and looked up at Zaknafein, wide eyes staring into his own. She had the eyes of her mother, Zak noticed. A few wisps of red hair were atop the baby's head. Zaknafein closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his decision.  
  
"Come," the drow who had murdered the woman said. "Kill the babe and let us leave this gods-cursed surface. The sun will be rising soon."  
  
Zaknafein stood and nodded to his companion slowly. The weapons-master raised his sword above his head, sucking a deep breath that was filled with decisiveness. He knew what he must do.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Lea hurried past her sister, her pace brisk and demanding. "Matron L'lonneal," she whispered, reaching out to hold her mother's hand. The matron mother did not stir.  
  
"She's been like this for nearly an hour," Z'ress informed her sister. "Where were you? Out in the city again, sister? I warned you that-"  
  
Lea ignored her sister completely. She looked at her dying mother. There was such cruelty in the drow society, but her mother had not followed those rules of the damning society. Their house had not grown in station or attacked another, but Lea had received more love than any other child in all of Menzoberranzan. She was the daughter of Matron L'lonneal, and nothing could deter that pride: not her sister's words, nor her mother's stricken look.  
  
But now, that pride was turning quickly to sorrow. For many months, her aged mother had been ailing. How many more days could the matron mother live? A week? Three days? One?  
  
"Matron L'lonneal," Lea murmured again. She paused, biting down on her lower lip. "Mother?"  
  
L'lonneal's eyes stirred open. "Lea'Veril?"  
  
"Yes, Mother?"  
  
L'lonneal closed her eyes again, wincing at the pain it caused her to speak. After what had seemed an eternity had passed, she opened her eyes again. "Lea, this house will be yours soon. Guard and rule it well."  
  
"I will," Lea'Veril promised. "You won't leave me yet."  
  
"Soon," L'lonneal said again, her voice a rasping croak. "It won't be much longer. Remember what I told you about-"  
  
"I remember," Lea cut in, although she had no idea what her mother was requesting her to remember. It doesn't matter, Lea told herself, not now.  
  
Her mother sank back into the pillows and Lea stood resolutely. She watched for a moment, her mother's chest rise up and down in labored breaths, the breathing of the dying.  
  
"Our mother needs her rest," she said quietly. All those in the room left without a word. No one dared question the command of a drow chosen to become matron mother....  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Jarlaxle had been affected by Lea'Veril's words no matter how much he could outwardly deny it. And the magic he had felt only a few nights before was not something he could forget. The mercenary remembered the MoonCrest and its legend from far back in his childhood. A child's tale, he recalled, and nothing more.  
  
Or so he had thought.  
  
Now, apparently, he was thinking otherwise. Jarlaxle stalked the hallways of Sorcere with extreme caution. He listened deeply to the silence that pounded his ears and his eyes were sharp in the darkness of the corridors.  
  
He knew the way to Gromph's chambers well, but each time he made this trip, there was certain danger. The school of Socere was not a place for the fools to roam.  
  
The mercenary made not a sound as he crept past the doors of other masters. He paused only at intersections, peeking around the corner before he hurried across. Only once was he almost seen, by a sole wizard who was strolling down the hallway. Jarlaxle hid carefully until the wizard had walked by, not even caring to notice the drow hiding in the unlocked room, the door even cracked slightly open.  
  
But finally-finally!-he reached the door to Gromph's chambers. He didn't hesitate as he went through the magical locks, one by one unhinging them. Soon the door of the room had opened and Jarlaxle stepped inside.  
  
Gromph was no where to be seen. Jarlaxle knew that he was at the base of Narbondel, casting the spell that would keep the daily glow.  
  
Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together as he stared at the book-covered shelves of the room.  
  
"Okay," he breathed. He walked closer to the bookshelves and a single, slender finger strolled across the spines of the books. Jarlaxle's mind took in each title with remarkable speed. He had gone through nearly an entire two rows of books before he stopped his finger. Deftly snatching the book from the shelf, he glanced once at the title on the cover: The Legends of the Goddess.  
  
"Catchy title," Jarlaxle mused aloud. Without missing a beat, he hurried to the door, pulling it closed just as Gromph Baerne teleported into the room.  
  
Jarlaxle flicked the cover of the book proudly with his fingers and then began to walk back to the Bregan D'aerthe compound.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The dawn was approaching, all the drow knew. They had gathered at the crest of the hill where they had so patiently waited for the command to attack.  
  
"Did we lose anyone?" one of the drow asked, the leader of the surface raid.  
  
"Jeaern's body was found," a slight drow said, feeling no remorse for the loss. "Dead," he added with an impact.  
  
Another drow put in, "Leari was killed in the forest."  
  
The commander of the raid nodded, taking note in his mind of the houses from which the drow named were from. "And Zaknafein Do'Urden is still missing?"  
  
All heads nodded in a sudden, subdued silence. 


	14. Chapter XII

Chapter XII  
  
The messenger approached Matron Malice tentatively, afraid of the matron mother and her daughter at her side, the ill-tempered Briza. He quivered at the sight of her hand, already, fingering her whip, her dark fingers at ease around the dangerous weapon.  
  
"I was told you have a message for me," Malice said to him, her voice strong. She had not been a matron mother for many years, but already she held the dignity and air of one who had been a matron mother for centuries.  
  
"I do," he replied. "I bear a message from the surface raid."  
  
Malice shifted in her seat. "And your message would be...? The male could sense her patience being strained so he took in a deep breath, rambling the next words together:  
  
"Zaknafein Do'Urden is dead."  
  
Even Briza-so feared and dreaded-could not hold back a gasp. Malice took the news calmly, though a dark cast drew over her face. "How?" the matron mother questioned shortly.  
  
The messenger's mouth felt immediately dry. "No one knows, Matron Malice," he answered her, bowing his head. "He disappeared. The last he was seen, he was chasing a female. Two drow followed him. Both of them were found dead. We can only presume...."  
  
"I see," Malice breathed, raising one hand so that her chin was supported comfortably. "Leave me," she commanded Briza and the messenger. Briza glanced at her mother, sensing the anxiety in her voice.  
  
Still, she did not question her mother's orders. With a glare at the messenger, she briskly walked from the room. The male followed, not daring to be alone with any female, much less Matron Malice.  
  
The doors of the room closed with a resounding slam and Malice wearily closed her eyes, feeling more tired than she had felt in some time.  
  
Her Zak, her Zaknafein? Dead? It just wasn't possible. He who could kill earth elementals and high priestesses, he who was called the best weapons- master in all of Menzoberranzan...this drow was dead?  
  
"Impossible," Malice said aloud. Her word echoed in the chamber. Zaknafein could not have been killed on a simple surface raid.  
  
But then, where was he? He had not returned with the party who had gone to the surface raid. He had not returned and now, as this messenger had told her, he had died?  
  
"He was just a male," Malice said to herself in some vain attempt to ease the pain she now felt. "Replaceable."  
  
But no matter what she knew Lloth taught, Malice knew in her heart that Zaknafein was not "replaceable."  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"News has come concerning the raid," Melyac announced to Jarlaxle. The mercenary nodded knowingly, having expected the reports to come.  
  
"A village of humans was attacked. The leader of the raid called the assault successful." Jarlaxle's lips thinned. "Successful" was a word to be dreaded in the drow language.  
  
He paused for a moment, contemplating on this new thought. Only when had Melyac cleared his throat, did Jarlaxle look up, his attention back fully on the conversation at hand. "Were there any drow casualties?"  
  
"Yes," Melyac replied, "three. One was a soldier from the fifteenth house, the second a weapons-master of the eighteenth house." He stopped, unsure how to go on.  
  
"And the third?" Jarlaxle asked absently. He had picked up a piece of parchment and had begun reading it, his mind wandering yet again.  
  
"The third was Zaknafein Do'Urden," Melyac informed him. Jarlaxle lowered the parchment immediately.  
  
"Zaknafein?" he echoed. Melyac nodded in reply. "Surely, some mistake?"  
  
"None, sir," the lieutenant responded. "He was missing when the party set off for the city. Scouts were sent to look for him, but he was not to be seen."  
  
Jarlaxle lost the surprised expression he had had on his face when he first heard the news. "Not seen?" he asked Melyac.  
  
"No, sir," Melyac said again.  
  
Jarlaxle swallowed hard, his hat sliding back on his head so that the plume lazily leaned to one side. Zaknafein? His one friend at the Academy...dead at the hands of a human? Not possible, not in the very least.  
  
"Thank you, Melyac," Jarlaxle said stiffly. "You are dismissed." Melyac left without another word. He knew of Jarlaxle's friendship with the weapons-master of House Do'Urden, and he knew that Jarlaxle would need silence, even if he himself had never experienced the loss of a friend....  
  
For nearly an hour, Jarlaxle sat in his chair, his chin propped up on a single palm. His fingers drummed the side of his face slowly; his thoughts too dark for any lively beat.  
  
Zaknafein had been killed? he thought again. No matter how many times he reviewed the facts, it never seemed to match up. Zaknafein had been captured perhaps? By whom, if the village's destruction had been "successful"? Where was his body, if he had been killed?  
  
And surely-surely!-Zaknafein would have been able to fight his way free from whatever demons possessed his body?  
  
"Unless the demons were his own," Jarlaxle murmured, hardly registering that he had spoken the words out loud.  
  
Jarlaxle leaned back, rubbing his temples. He tried to think of the last time he had seen someone lament for the dying. Jarlaxle let out a wistful sigh when he could think of no one. He was alone in his inner weeping, and now that Zaknafein Do'Urden was gone, he was alone in Menzoberranzan.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Maelent leaned back in her chair, feeling the comfort the cushions provided. Lea'Veril of House D'teknil stood before her calmly, a serene, judging smile on her face, nearly placid despite the environment around her.  
  
"I feel that I am slightly baffled over why you are here, Lea'Veril," Maelent started slowly, unsure of how to begin.  
  
Lea's smile only grew, but there was a certain glimmer in her eyes that told of a darker truth behind her friendliness. "Matron Maelent, I would like to come to nurse some old grudges between our two houses."  
  
"Our two houses?" Maelent repeated. "Am I to understand that Matron L'lonneal has passed on? I had not heard...." The fake sympathy stole the smile from Lea's face.  
  
"My mother still lives," Lea corrected stiffly. "I speak on her behalf."  
  
Maelent paused to consider this. "Hmm, I was under the impression that Matron L'lonneal still despised me for reasons unknown. Has she truly had a change of heart?"  
  
Lea chose her words carefully before she spoke. "My mother lies on her deathbed, it is true. Who are we to say that those experiences will not change one's soul?"  
  
Maelent laughed. "Foolish girl," she chided, a broad grin on her face, "let your mother keep her hatred for me and let her die happy. You fear the possibility of battle while your tenure as matron mother is new. You fear my house coming to attack yours. Be honest with me, Lea'Veril. I can read you easily."  
  
Lea did not back down from the Maelent's fierce attack of words. "I understand that House Monstre has wanted to climb in its ascension many times by attacking House D'teknil. Rumors of that manner never seem to fade."  
  
Maelent still smiled down at Lea. "My house is indeed looking for a way to grow in power. What house is not? Yet, I know that rumors tend to be just rumors. I wouldn't listen to them as much as you seem to."  
  
"Rumors can be the only warning a house receives," Lea reminded Maelent caustically, eyeing up the other drow with a sudden suspiciousness. Maelent seemed taken aback.  
  
"I would not dare attack house D'teknil while a matron mother is so inflicted. Even grudges are put on hold for those of such station. But, perhaps, rumors might fold over to a new rule...." Maelent coughed, bring up a curled hand to her mouth. "However," she said when she had finished, "I know that my house is at the moment content with its position in hierarchy."  
  
Lea bowed. "Thank you for clearing up this discrepancy," she replied in a suddenly strained tone, "and thank you for your hospitality this afternoon."  
  
"My pleasure, Lea'Veril," Maelent told her with the same mock politeness. "And send Matron L'lonneal my regards."  
  
Lea gave a curt nod before she was escorted from the room. The empty room filled her heart with new worries.  
  
"She knows," Maelent whispered to the darkness.  
  
Let her know, the voice within her cackled.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
My Fellow Penguins:  
  
Okay, because of some complete DISASTER that involved me, my barbaric English teacher, and my sudden decline in writing-confidence, the only thing I am able to write now appears to be R. A. Salvatore fanfictions. Imagine that.  
  
The entire back-story is that I despise my English teacher because she said that the way I write isn't the "proper" way to write. She has no support for the imagination whatsoever (!), and I dread every class with her. * smiles sweetly * Ain't it just peachy?  
  
So, as I have not written on my novel in about 4 months now, and The Lone Drow is coming out soon and I started rereading the series over, I have learned that the ONLY thing I have the will to write are fanfictions with Drizzt and Company. It's so sad!  
  
No, no! Don't get be wrong, I * love * Drizzt-and ALL of Salvatore's characters for that matter-but this is seriously the only thing I can bring myself to write.  
  
Oh, my English teacher is evil.  
  
So, that's why I have been posting updates a bit more than usual as of late. Haha, hope you are enjoying it.  
  
I really sat down the other day and planned Invisible Chains and how the rest of the plot was going to go. (I was mostly just coasting in the beginning, writing random things and going, "Hmm, this is nice.") Now, I have a detailed plot so hold on to your hats, Aithne's rollin'.  
  
Thanks again to all my reviewers, especially SilverWolf and Chichix. I appreciate reviews more than people know. Thank ya. =)  
  
Hmm, I think that is about it. Thanks again, everyone, and have a great Halloween!  
  
~Aithne (TheBladedancer) 


	15. Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII

Lea watched Jarlaxle pack the leather satchel full with magical items, daggers, and random things he would need for a long journey.

"You cannot be serious," she insisted yet again. Jarlaxle bustled past her, furiously searching for any thing he might need in his trip to the Underdark...and to the surface.

"Never more so, I'm afraid," Jarlaxle replied with a mocking bitterness. "Something does not seem right."

Lea let out an annoyed sigh, crossing his arms. "You just do not want to accept the fact that Zaknafein Do'Urden is dead!"

Jarlaxle stopped his pacing and turned on his heel to glare at Lea'Veril. "You should be more concerned, Mistress Lea'Veril. Might I add that you asked him as well to aid you in your mission?"

"He would have been an asset," Lea admitted, "but he is dead. Even Matron Malice has accepted that fact! She has already chosen a new patron."

"Malice chooses new patrons with the each glow of Narbondel," Jarlaxle snipped caustically, beginning again to search his chambers for any other items he would need.

Lea's lips thinned. "Do not go, Jarlaxle. There is too much at stake here."

"You mean this?" Jarlaxle asked sharply. He picked up a thin book and tossed it to Lea. She caught it in her hand a looked down at the title: Legends of the Goddess. Lea flipped to a marked page, a think band of red ribbon peaking out from the top of the book.

There on the page was a finely illustrated drawing of a gem, blue in color but on it swirling clouds of whitish silver.

"The MoonCrest," Lea whispered, hardly audible. She looked up at the mercenary. "You know of the danger here in the city, and you are still planning to go to the surface in search of a dead drow?"

Jarlaxle sucked in a deep breath, as if the air would somehow grant him the patience he so dearly needed. "Zaknafein Do'Urden is not dead," he said crisply. "I will return shortly, and I doubt that anything will happen in the time I am away."

But Lea knew that Jarlaxle's words were hollow.

*** *** ***

Helarin was waiting near the door, pacing back and forth in an intense worry. Lea had gone to House Monstre nearly three hours ago. Not only were the dangers of the drow streets reason enough to worry, but she was going to an enemy house! If Lea had been attacked within Maelent's walls, House D'teknil would have no choice but to retaliate, and in the condition the house was in....

"My sister has not yet returned?" a voice asked sweetly, stealing the worrying thoughts away from Helarin's mind. Z'ress stood on the top of the long and finely decorated stairwell.

"She has not," Helarin mumbled humbly, knowing better than to anger Z'ress when she was in such a calm mood. The false tranquillity would shed away at the first sign of the male's impudence.

Z'ress snorted. "She does not understand. Lea'Veril will not make a good matron mother." She eyes Helarin carefully. "Do you agree?"

A fine trap she's got me in, Helarin grumbled in his mind. Slowly, he opened his mouth, choosing his words with utmost care. "I—"

The door opened. Lea'Veril entered, her beautiful eyes seeming tired and stressed. Her usually straight and beautiful hair was messily tossed to one side. Lea paused and looked at Helarin for a moment and then passed the look on to her sister.

"Is something wrong?" Lea asked curiously, studying the looks on the two drow's faces.

"Nothing, sister," Z'ress replied. "Good night."

Neither Helarin nor Z'ress even made a gesture to reply Lea let her eyes follow her sister's smooth movements until the door closed behind Z'ress, leaving them alone in the common room.

"She's too ambitious," Lea grumbled, seeming to be concerned about her sister. "When Matron L'lonneal dies, I wonder what her actions will be."

"None that will aid the house, I guarantee," Helarin replied stiffly, straightening his back so that he stood a few inches taller than Lea, who was slightly shorter than most drow. She looked up him, knowing the question that was racing through his mind. Still, she waited for him to ask it.

"Did you speak to Matron Maelent?" Lea grimaced at the name, fearing the worst. Helarin did not miss her reaction.

"She reassured me that she would never dare to attack a house while a matron mother was so afflicted," Lea informed him, skepticism lining her voice. "But," she went on, "after a new matron mother comes to the house...."

Helarin nodded. "Your soldiers will not fail you," he told her comfortingly. He knew the weight of the burdens Lea had upon her shoulders in the times of late. "They have not in the past and they will not now."

Lea forced a smile onto her face. "Thank you," she responded, giving an appreciative nod.

"Did you go to the mercenary?"

"Yes." Lea glanced away. She was still thinking of her visit with Jarlaxle.

Helarin sensed her uneasy feelings, but he still pressed her for information. "What did he say?"

"Jarlaxle will continue to help us," she said and offered nothing more. This time, Helarin did not pursue with questions.

*** *** ***

Jarlaxle told his lieutenants that he would be gone for a short time, but he said nothing about where he was going or what his reasons for going were. Only Melyac could guess that the cause of his departure lay in the friendship he had shared with Zaknafein Do'Urden. But Melyac respected his commander's privacy and kept silent as Jarlaxle gave his orders for the time he was away.

But soon Jarlaxle had left the compound, leaving the Bregan D'aerthe in good hands, he knew. Sometimes "opportunities" called him away to more distant places, and his lieutenants had never failed him before when he was absent. Few in Menzoberranzan—even in his own band—knew that he was away.

"Now is no different," Jarlaxle told himself as he journeyed into the first few tunnels of the Underdark maze. "The MoonCrest is safe."

He sank deeper into his thoughts, hardly giving a mind to the turns he was making in the dark. Jarlaxle knew the areas here as well as he knew the back of his hand. He had explored many times each tunnel that led to the surface so that he could find his way through the darkness to the world of light...where he was certain Zaknafein would be.

"The duties of friendship," Jarlaxle sighed, pausing briefly to straighten the large hat on his head. His hands came down and switched the eyepatch from his left eye to his right. With that, he began to stalk his way through the stone labyrinth, the stealth of the drow making him near invisible to any watching eyes.

*** *** ***

Maelent's fingers strolled across the map of the Underdark that lay on the desk before her. She sat in the chair, her chin propped up gently with one of her curled hands.

She had bought the map nearly two weeks ago from a merchant band from Ched Nasad, and everyday she had come into the library her in house to look at it. But everyday was the same. She came no closer to finding the Hall of the Guardian.

Maelent sighed heavily, sinking into the chair in frustration. She grabbed the parchment beside the map, an old and tattered paper marked with a deep and messy scrawl. She had taken nearly a full month to translate the legend from the blasphemous words in the Common Tongue to the drow language. There was no room for mistakes in her quest; every word was a key.

Her eyes scanned the parchment, her finger tapping the torn corner of the aged document.

Hidden in a cave

Forgotten by time,

Where the angels still sleep

And demons do rise.

A relic of power,

To raise and bind,

To break and bid

'Til the end of time.

Lloth the Redeemer,

Keeper of dark,

Protected her children

And gave them this arc.

"Raise your cities," she said,

"Let your words become law.

I grant you this power

To aid you in war."

And so the Dark Ones

Kept by her words,

Guided by the crest

Of power unheard.

They knew not its destruction,

Or of its true song,

All the knew was their Goddess,

Who came them this wrong.

But long had they drifted

From their sun-dancing kin

They now cursed the sun-world.

They were covered in sin.

They began their wars,

Their battles and fights.

They found their enemies

They had found their long Night.

House against house,

And drow against drow.

Where the dagger did speak,

A land without vow.

Soon they did not need

The power of the gift.

Lloth smiled at her children,

There was nothing she missed.

She now had her killers,

Her assassins more.

They were her image,

Evil through, down to core.

She took her treasure,

From their caves of dark.

She took it away,

And so did part.

The killing continued,

Betrayal's kiss

With dagger's bite:

Death's promise.

Far from blinding sun

And far from silver sea

Far from the palaces

Of grand chivalry.

Down to the world

Where time stands still,

Deep in the caverns

Of ancient thrill.

Dark in the lair

Of the Guardian's Hall,

Waits the patient MoonCrest,

To curse them all.

Maelent let out the breath she had been holding as she read the legend. She didn't care how long it would take her or how much it would cost her. The MoonCrest would be hers.


	16. Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV  
  
Zaknafein looked around the tunnel he was in, squinting in the light that surrounded him. Years ago he had acquired a certain medallion that let light be shown whenever and wherever the wearer wished. He didn't much appreciate the light, but it used it now, helping him keep silent in the Underdark.  
  
The ceiling of the cavern was high above him so that he could barely make it out. He had been lost for nearly three days in the Underdark. Only patrols called him into the dark maze, but now he did not know where he was.  
  
The baby squirmed in his arms, and Zak looked down at the young girl sorrowfully. She was hungry. Just earlier he had found a female rothe that had just given birth. He filled up his canteen with its milk to give to the babe, but that was hours ago. She needed to eat again.  
  
The tiny girl-Nevina he remembered she had been called-was the reason of the light medallion. Every time Zak let himself enjoy the darkness, Nevina began to wail, attracting even more enemies than the light would. Traveling with the babe made the Underdark even more dangerous than usual.  
  
Zak puts his hand on her head, brushing back a few pieces of her red hair. She laughed, her small arms grabbing at one of the drow's fingers. Her tiny tongue came out and she pulled his finger into her tiny mouth, gnawing on the finger with her gums.  
  
The weapons-master smiled, his eyes twinkling with delight. How could the females he knew complain about such a task as child-weaning? What was so bad about seeing a child grow?  
  
The baby giggled in the cave as Zaknafein pulled his finger from her mouth and tapped her once on the nose.  
  
"I'll get you food soon," he promised her in a calm voice. The baby did not understand, but she looked up at him with her knowing brown eyes and smiled. She buried her head into his shoulder and began to drift off to sleep.  
  
Zaknafein began walking again, the smile still on his face. Perhaps this would be possible....  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Jarlaxle's sensitive ears had caught up the faintest sound, but he was not yet sure of what it was. He listened again, stopping in place. He didn't sense any enemies nearby, but this was the Underdark. Things weren't always what they seemed.  
  
Then he heard it. A laugh! Moreso, a baby's laugh....  
  
Jarlaxle's eyebrows lowered in confusion, but he turned down the tunnel from which the noise had come. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
Zaknafein was facing him, a human baby in his arms.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Have you heard the rumors?" Z'ress yelled at her sister, breathing heavily. "There is a house conspiring against us!"  
  
Lea said nothing and continued to read the book she held in her hand. She didn't even glance up at her sister, giving no sign whatsoever that she acknowledged the words.  
  
"Did you hear me?" Z'ress screamed. "We could be destroyed!"  
  
Lea's eyes suddenly shot up. "Of course I know this," she said with a deathly calm. Z'ress moth hung open in a surprised gape. "Do I not have ears?"  
  
Her sister sneered at the sarcasm. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind concerning yourself with the welfare of this house and perhaps find out who is plotting against us."  
  
"I have been, Z'ress," Lea said slowly.  
  
"Really now?" Z'ress asked skeptically. "I have seen no yochlol summoned by mother."  
  
Lea slammed her book closed. "There are other ways to find information than by using-no, bothering!-Lloth. Let me handle our affairs, Z'ress. I am becoming the matron mother of this house, remember? Not you."  
  
Z'ress had nothing to reply with so she stood before her sister and glared, her eyes seeming to burn livid with anger. "We shall see," she said at length, turning on her heel to bolt out of the room.  
  
Lea shook her head, her frustration at its peak. Her sister was getting in the way of things. Z'ress knew that Lea was hiding something, and if Lea knew her sister in the least, Z'ress was going to make it her priority to find out what her sister's secret was.  
  
That could cause trouble.  
  
The MoonCrest has slipped out of all knowledge through the thousands of centuries. Hardly a soul even believed in the existence of the artifact. But Lea knew that the stories were true. She knew that the MoonCrest had once been given to the drow by Lloth. Lea knew with certainty that it lay hidden somewhere...somewhere in the Underdark. She knew.  
  
But so did Maelent.  
  
"The defender verses the destroyer," Lea mused aloud.  
  
Maelent wanted more than anything the MoonCrest, but Lea had made it her obligation to keep it hidden. But few things in Menzoberranzan could be done without help. And that was where Zaknafein, Jarlaxle, and the Bregan D'aerthe came in. Lea's house was a small house, hardly having enough soldiers to protect the MoonCrest.  
  
But they would try.  
  
"Not unless Z'ress finds out," Lea sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she flipped through the pages of her book, trying to put her worries to the back of her mind.  
  
Some things are just not possible,  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"What in the Nine Hells are you thinking?!" Jarlaxle practically yelled. Nevina stirred from her sleep, raising her head to turn and see the mercenary. She looked questionably at Zaknafein, but the weapons-master had his attention elsewhere.  
  
"Jeaern killed her father and mother," Zaknafein explained softly, not letting his words grow loud as Jarlaxle's had. The Underdark was no place for raised voices.  
  
"So you killed Jeaern?" Jarlaxle retorted defensively, not even bothering to lower his voice. He shook his head as if the entire notion were absurd.  
  
Zaknafein cast his eyes downward, somewhat ashamed of what he had done. "I had to," he said, as if that were a good enough excuse for his conscience.  
  
Jarlaxle's nose crinkled as he twittered mockingly, "I had to." He shot Zaknafein an annoyed glare. "And the child?" he asked, gesturing to the still wide-eyed Nevina.  
  
Zaknafein shrugged as if the presence of the human child were nothing out of the ordinary. "I could not leave her there to die, and surely she would have if I would have left her by her mother's body."  
  
"So you just bring her along to House Do'Urden?" Jarlaxle countered angrily, spotting every minor detail in Zaknafein's plan that showed the slightest hint of stupidity. "I am sure Malice would not mind. Neither would Lloth. Or Briza, for that matter. She loves children."  
  
Zaknafein's anger flared. "I am not stupid, Jarlaxle," he fumed, his muscles tensing. "I know that she could never even enter House Do'Urden's gate, but what would have me do? I would not let another innocent life die at the hands of my kin. Would you have let her be killed?"  
  
Jarlaxle did not glance away, even as Zak's words shot at him. "Perhaps you brought her here in a penance for other crimes you committed that night?" Jarlaxle's voice showed no forgiveness.  
  
Zak opened his mouth to reply, but he found no words, so he closed it again. Jarlaxle did not comment, and a deep silence fell between them that neither wanted to break.  
  
Nevina gurgled, and Zak looked down at her. Any other time in his wandering through the Underdark, he would have been grateful for her innocent outbreaks, but now he only looked down at her with sadness. Jarlaxle was right.  
  
"I had no control on the surface, Jarlaxle," Zaknafein whispered guiltily. "I let myself go, and I regret it. But she is just a child...."  
  
Jarlaxle turned to look at the drow before him. The baby was patting his shoulder with a open hand, her palm smacking against his 123 with a slight smack. Suddenly she coughed, throwing her earlier meal all over Zaknafein's clothes.  
  
Jarlaxle smiled. "Come on," he told his friend, giving a slight laugh as Zaknafein scowled at Nevina. The weapons-master walked forward, his face scrunched up in an annoyed repulsion. "Ha, you look ridiculous."  
  
Jarlaxle let Zaknafein walk in front of him, brushing some of the mess away with the back of his hand. Jarlaxle laughed even more.  
  
"Here," Zaknafein said, turning. "Hold her."  
  
Jarlaxle's eyes flew wide. Zaknafein passed him the baby. The mercenary held her out as far away as he possibly could. His slender fingers wrapping around her middle in a loose, but certain hold.  
  
It was Zaknafein's turn to laugh. He finished wiping away the mess and thought that it was best Jarlaxle hold her for a while. They walked in a contented silence until Zaknafein let his curiosity get the better of him.  
  
"What were you doing in the Underdark?" Zaknafein asked.  
  
Jarlaxle let out a heavy, stressed sigh, brought on by both the baby in his hands and the question. "Looking for you, you idiot," he breathed, his heels clinking on the stone beneath them. Zaknafein stopped in his tracks, somewhat touched by the drow's concern.  
  
Nevina's hand shot up before he could go any deeper into his thoughts, bopping Jarlaxle on the nose.  
  
"Argh," Jarlaxle grumbled, snorting. Nevina's laughter rang like bells, and Zaknafein let his feet move him beside the mercenary. Together, the two friends began their journey back Menzoberranzan.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
Dear Fellow Rowan Trees and Dr. Pepper-Addicted Mice:  
  
Due to a few recent family illnesses, including one of mine (oh ha), it's been a long while since I had a chance to update any of my stories, much less Invisible Chains. (Sorry about that, folks.) Most to all of my updates in the past few weeks were correcting my work for the "new" edict of the site, with no author notes as chapters.  
  
Um, oops?  
  
So, with that fixed and everything starting to get back to normal in my family, I'll try to pick up this story again. At any rate, it might be a bit before my next chapter. I'll try to write it as soon as possible.  
  
I hope everyone had a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!  
  
- Aithne (TheBladedancer) 


	17. Chapter XV

Chapter XV  
  
Menzoberranzan lay in the distance. From above the city on a ledge of stone, Jarlaxle and Zaknafein looked down, Nevina asleep now in the mercenary's arms.  
  
"Almost peaceful from up here," Jarlaxle snorted quietly, not wanting to wake the baby.  
  
"Who would ever imagine that," Zaknafein replied, shifting his weight uneasily. He had had a plan when he returned to the city. He had known that he could never take Nevina with him. But, now that the moment had come....  
  
"Jarlaxle," he began slowly.  
  
The mercenary looked at him, a toothy grin on his face that intruded upon the grave moment above the city. "You were never one to be able to hide something," Jarlaxle told him. "Now is no different, I assume."  
  
Zaknafein seemed confused until Jarlaxle added, "I'll take Nevina. The Bregan D'aerthe...." He paused for a moment. "We will take care of her—until I return her to her people."  
  
"You will bring her to the surface?" Zaknafein asked with uncertainty.  
  
The mercenary nodded. "You know as well as I that a human child cannot stay here. She would be killed—or worse, sacrificed to Lloth. You don't want that to happen to her, and neither do I."  
  
Zaknafein had no words that could go against Jarlaxle's truth. "Your men would not let a human child stay," Zak reminded him, his eyes falling upon the sleeping Nevina.  
  
Jarlaxle grinned shiftily. "My men obey my commands," he said forcefully. "And besides, my men do not need to know."  
  
The mercenary's friend smiled sadly, turning his gaze so that he overlooked the city below.  
  
"I made a mistake in bringing her here," the weapons-master admitted, shaking his head in shame.  
  
Jarlaxle understood his friend's guilt. "I'll bring her back to where she'll be safe. Things for her will be as if she had never come here."  
  
Zak lifted his head. "Are you certain that that will happen?"  
  
"I will do everything I can to make it happen," the mercenary promised. The weapons-master was relieved.  
  
If Jarlaxle committed himself to something, then there would be nothing to stand against him.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Lea created a magical light that followed her as she walked through her house's library. She let her fingers scroll across the spines of the book as she looked for something to drag her troubled mind away from the mounting darkness that threatened the city.  
  
Jarlaxle might not return, a thought whispered. Lea's finger began to press a bit harder on the books as she continued to look for a tome that would let her escape.  
  
He could die out there in the Underdark, and then were would she be left?  
  
Alone, she admitted, stopping her frantic search for a book. Defeated, she grabbed a random book from the shelf and glided gracefully over to a cushioned chair that rested in the middle of the library.  
  
Closing her eyes, she sunk into the chair, trying to find one comfortable position in which she could find some rest. After a long minute, she opened her eyes, staring at the still-closed book in her lap.  
  
Am I really going to chase away my problems by running away? she asked herself, looking at the book in a sudden disgust.  
  
Horrified at the thought and frustrated with the stress that pressed down on her mind, she lifted the book and hurled it across the library, letting it smack against the wall with a resounding slam.  
  
Silence followed—a dead silence in which Lea could only sit in the chair dumbly, too amazed that she had let the pressure get to her.  
  
But she could not sit long in her peace. The door to the library opened with a creak and Lea jumped up, startled. Helarin stood in the doorway, a troubled look on his face.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, straightening her back and pushing a few loose strands of her hair behind her dainty ear.  
  
Helarin licked his lips. "It's your mother," he said softly. Lea's eyes went wide and before Helarin could register what had happened, Lea had pushed past him and was already tearing down the corridors of the D'teknil home.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Z'ress looked at her mother in impatience. She was clinging onto her life just barely—so barely that each time her chest rolled up in a breathe, Z'ress felt a twinge of surprise.  
  
Why can't she just die already? Z'ress grumbled in her mind, looking at the near-lifeless body on the bed. She contemplated killing her mother herself, but shook her head, deciding against it. She was dying—why not just let her take her time?  
  
The door burst open, and in ran Lea, her eyes troubled and her face etched in worry. Had she made it in time?  
  
Ever so slightly, her mother's chest rolled upward. Yes, she had made it in time. Her mother was still alive....  
  
Not sparing a single moment, she hurried past her sister and knelt down beside her mother's bed.  
  
"Mother," Lea whispered, her slender hands reaching to touch her mother's arm.  
  
"Lea," L'lonneal returned, her voice barely a murmur. Lea's heart seemed to scream in sorrow, but she did not let her tears fall. "Tell...tell your sister...to leave us."  
  
"Yes, mother," Lea replied. She glanced at Z'ress, her eyes filling up with water. Z'ress passed her a glare, but she did not disobey her matron's wishes. Quickly and angrily, she strode to the door, walking through and closing it with a slam behind her.  
  
Lea ignored her sister's antics, leaning close to her dying mother. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"You will...be the...matron of this house," L'lonneal told her quietly, each word a strain coming from her lips. Lea nodded slowly.  
  
"As you wish," she breathed in a new despair, as if she were chaining herself down to duty. Lea became coldly still when the realization hit her: she was binding herself to the house, to her position as matron mother....  
  
But her mother could not and did not notice. "Guide it well, Lea'Veril," her mother bade her.  
  
Lea shook her head. "I can't, mother," she whispered, the tears in her eyes pleading—demanding!—to fall. "I know I can't."  
  
L'lonneal opened her mouth to reply to her daughter's sad words, but there was no strength left in her to form the words of comfort in her mind. She let her clouded eyes speak for her, letting Lea seek some consolation in those eyes...those eyes of drow...those eyes that had seen so much.  
  
"Mother," Lea breathed, knowing that there was no time left for them. She tried to keep her control over the water in her eyes, but the tears had taken control of her body. They fell like rain on the surface world, streams of sorrow down her beautiful face, rivers of anger and despair that could not be dammed. "Mother, don't."  
  
But L'lonneal D'teknil could not hear her daughter or wipe away her tears.  
  
Lea lay her head down on the bed, her entire body shaking. This was unlike anything she had felt before...this overpowering sorrow.  
  
Knowing what she had to do, Lea rose from her crying and walking dumbly to the door, the world around in her a daze, a blurred image of a dream world. She didn't feel her hand reaching out and touching the doorknob. She didn't remember pulling the door slowly open and walking outside. She only remembered her mother's still form on the bed, letting the image follow her with every step she took.  
  
Z'ress stood outside the door impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest rudely. "Well?"  
  
Lea'Veril felt numb to the world, but somehow her lips managed to function. Slowly she said to her sister, "I am the matron of House D'teknil."  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The guard fell back in awe as Zaknafein Do'Urden approached the Do'Urden gates. Almost proudly, Zaknafein smiled, waiting for the gates to open.  
  
"We thought you dead!" a guard called to him. Zaknafein offered no response. He still didn't have a lie to explain his absence to the guard, though his knew that he was going to have to think of an excuse soon enough. It wouldn't be long until he was beside Malice, and she would press him for answers.  
  
"Sir?" a guard asked as his side. "Where were you?"  
  
Again, Zak said nothing of the matter. "Alert Matron Malice to my presence."  
  
The drow scurried off, leaving Zaknafein and the gawking guards of House Do'Urden.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Jarlaxle sealed the room using magic. Along the wall, no door seemed present, but he knew that the door was there. The ring on his left hand—a small, black band—alerted him to the door, giving a faint red outline around its frame.  
  
Nevina slept in that room, his secret room. She slept on a bed of pillows, covered by blankets of fine material that only matron mothers usually possessed.  
  
Anything for the baby, Jarlaxle thought happily, taking his gaze away from the door. Only he knew of the door. Not even his lieutenants could know—the sooner she was brought to her people, the sooner things would return to normal.  
  
A warmth came to Jarlaxle's chest as the amulet that hung there began to glow softly. Someone was waiting outside of his door.  
  
"Enter," Jarlaxle ordered, turning to face the door. Melyac entered. "Yes, lieutenant?"  
  
"Sir," Melyac said, letting his suspicions creep into his voice. "The rothe milk you requested...it has arrived."  
  
"Oh!" Jarlaxle startled with a wink. "I had been waiting for it." He kept his notice of Melyac's studying stare hidden. "Thank you, Melyac. Please bring it here shortly."  
  
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said again, never questioning the sly mercenary's orders. Those that questioned Jarlaxle found that they did not live long.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Z'ress had gone to tell the other females of the house that L'lonneal was dead. Helarin had returned to the guards, offering no answers to the questions that floated in the air. And Lea—Lea had returned to the library.  
  
The pale magical glow hung over her as she curled up into the cushioned chair. This time there was no book on her lap, no object to divert her sorrow, as she had tried to do with her troubles.  
  
Her sadness was hers to deal with and hers alone. There was no one else in the house that felt remorse over L'lonneal's death. There was just her. Alone. In grief. In a river of grief. In an ocean of grief.  
  
Lea had long ago stopped crying, but her eyes were still puffed and red from the tears. Now, she sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her head half-burrowed in her arms. She hadn't blinked in some time, too dazed to bring her thoughts to conscious reality.  
  
All she could so was sit there in silence, in the dim light, in her ocean of grief. It was hear burden to bear. How could she get out of this crushing sadness when there was no one to tell her how?  
  
The door opened, but Lea, in his muses did not hear the urgency in which it had been opened. She saw Helarin standing just inside the library, his breathing hard and heavy.  
  
His eyes didn't even take in the shaken and torn image of Lea. All he could do was open his mouth and shout words.  
  
"We are under attack!" Helarin cried.  
  
________________________________________  
  
My fellow Ents, North Pole Elves, and Garden Gnome Liberators:  
  
Okay, I'll make this short and sweet: I apologize for the lack of updating. I'll try to do better—promise.  
  
-Aithne / TheBladedancer 


End file.
